Bioshock Infinite: Tears Past and Present
by Armaras
Summary: A tale of a disgraced detective sent on a job to wipe away his debt. But the job will take him places he never imagined... This very ambitious AU will attempt to piece together a story that could have been as based off the old trailers, snippets of info, development material and interviews with the developers before the game release. Ratings and categories subject to change.
1. Chapter 1 - The Debt

**Hello Everyone! This is my very first story, and perhaps the craziest thing yet! I've taken it upon myself to look over all of the old development content and the story rewrites and came to a conclusion that this thing needs to be done! The great thing about B:I is that with multiverse concept, such things are possible and what is not to say that the story we have seen in trailers and demos isn't one that happened alongside the one we played? That said, there is a healthy dose of my imagination here too, to give you a vision of the plot I imagined when I first saw when the game announcement.**

* * *

**The Debt**

He heard someone banging on the door to his office, quite insistently at that. The banging was accompanied by angry voices that he heard all too often by now.

"Mr. DeWitt! Mr. DeWitt! You are running out of time.! You can't hide in there forever! The debt must be paid back or…"

Oh yes, they were relentless. New York was a great city, but it had a nasty underbelly, like any other grand place. If you looked beyond the Statue of Liberty and the skyscrapers that were just starting to pierce the heavens, you were left with folk that often had nothing to lose. And Booker was one of them.

"Leave me alone! I told you I got nothing."

He was clearly unhappy with himself or the situation he was in, seated behind his desk with his pistol lying in front of him and a bottle of cheap whisky in his left hand. With tired eyes he stared at the door, ready to pick up and aim the gun in an instant. He knew that annoyed knocking on the door was just the start of it, and it did not cease for a momen. He was still thinking about his mistake, and how quick it was.

He had a great hand, and the game was going swimmingly for him – he was about to knock out last player out of the game after he bluffed. He was taking the money in and in, hoping to finally pay off his horse-racing, which, as it turned out, was a big mistake for Booker. He had people baying for his blood.

"So, what do you have, big guy?" He nonchalantly asked his opponent. Booker was hoping to bluff his way through this one too, he couldn't resist the chance of taking the game – he went all in already.

"Three of kings", the man replied, after slowly putting down his cards. Booker swallowed hardly, after being quite clearly caught off-guard.

"So, what do you have, _big guy_?" The man mocked him. Booker hesitantly put his cards down, trying to remain collected and unmoved, but one could sense his desperation, as he slowly laid down his cards, revealing a meager pair of tens.

"That's it DeWitt, end of the line." The man replied, grinning at Booker and moving his hand out to grab the money that was in the middle of the table.

"Now hold up, I can get more! We aren't done yet."

"Sorry DeWitt, but I don't think anyone will bet on a deadbeat like you anymore."

He tried to get that money back, oh he tried. But he was out of luck and out of time. Booker hoped that he would be able to find someone else to sponsor him one last time. He stopped counting on any work long time ago, his Pinkerton badge was gathering dust on the night-table next to his bed. He knew what happened next. He took a swig from thee bottle, still looking at the door. The liquid burned his throat as he swallowed it, but it did nothing to ease the tension he felt in the pit of his stomach.

The banging and shouts stopped. He heard footsteps and commotion outside, no doubt more people were piling in, readying themselves to burst through the door and take the last thing that Booker could truly call his own. But at that point, it was his instinct rather than desire to live that kept him ready to jump for his gun.  
He was greatly surprised when he heard gentle tapping on the door instead, and a voice of a different man.

"Hello, Mr. DeWitt? Are you there? I'm looking for an investigator; I have a job for you."

Booker was dumbfounded; he could barely put together a coherent thought and process what just happened. After few seconds passed, he shook his head as if to pull himself together.

"Yeah, I'm here. Let me let you in."

He got up and unlocked the door to reveal a tall man wearing a tan suit and a green tie. He dispassionately looked at Booker before opening his mouth.

"I was hoping I would find you in, Mr. DeWitt. I've heard that you are quite the betting man and I was afraid you aren't in the business anymore."

"What I do is none of your…" Booker stopped himself short of cursing the man out. He almost forgot what a client looks like or how to speak to them. But here he was, in flesh and talking to him.

"Do you have business with me? Whatever you want, I might not be your best choice."

Booker turned around and went back inside, with the man following him into the dingy office.

"On the contrary, Mr. DeWitt, you are very much the man that is needed right now. Mr Adams and Mr. Sinclair did not complain in the least when it came to talking about your skills. As an 'investigator' of course." He smirked, but Booker ignored the quip.

"Shit, don't tell me you are one of them. I told Sinclair..."

The man cut him short.

"I know what you have told him, Mr. DeWitt, and I made sure he understood. Do not worry about them anymore. Adams and Sinclair have been given an offer and reconsidered your debt."

Booker raised an eyebrow as he sat back in his chair. Whoever that man was, he certainly captured his attention now.

"And since when I am graced with random acts of kindness? I don't suppose this is free, right?"  
"Of course not, Mr. DeWitt. But I already see that you know how those things work. You've just been bought, and there is a job that waits for you."

The man pulled out a small envelope from an inside pocket of his cream-tan jacket and put it on Booker's desk.

"The job is fairly straightforward, and if you perform well there is a bonus that awaits you at the end."

"And what if I refuse? How do I know this isn't one of Sinclair's setups?"

"Mr. DeWitt, I don't think Mr. Sinclair would joke with you, and I most certainly did not joke with him. And if you refuse, well, I hope you like the sight of the Hudson riverbed this time of year. Your creditors were quite insistent on being paid for extension of your deadline, one way or another."

Booker only sighed. He knew what the answer was as soon as he asked the question.  
He moved the bottle and the pistol to the side, opened the envelope and pulled out several bits of paper and cards.

"Is this it? What are those?"

"Have you heard of Columbia? The flying marvel and a showpiece of the American Way?"

"You mean that flying amusement park? And where is it now anyway? No one has heard of it or seen it for some time now."

The man chuckled

"Oh I assure you Mr. DeWitt, it's far more than just an amusement park, even when you think about it as an airborne Chicago World Fair. And yes, the place is very much still up in the sky somewhere, you just need to find your way in."

Among the papers now strewn across the desk there was a photograph of a girl, taken from the side. It showed her wearing a dress and a ponytail tied with a ribbon. It was annotated with a single word. _Elizabeth._

Booker picked up the photograph, rubbing his rough chin.

"And who is she? Is this some kidnapping case you want me to solve?"

"You could put it that way Mr. DeWitt, although there isn't much solving needed. You only need to retrieve the girl out of the city and bring her to New York. The exact details of her location are here in the documents."

"That's it? I find her and bring her here?" Booker still couldn't shake off his bewilderment. This sounded way too fantastic for something that was worth buying up his debt.

The man kept his enigmatic smile as he replied.

"That's it Mr. DeWitt. Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt."

While he heard those words for the first time in his life, there was something eerie about them. It wasn't the first time he felt like that about seemingly innocent things in his life, yet these particular words shook him to the core for some reason. He did not show it to the man though, his face still bearing a look of surprise over the case. He did reach out for the bottle and took another swig. The strange man's smile only got wider.

"And who are "you"? I didn't get your name. And why do you want me? Any hired muscle could bring you the girl if you wanted to, for that cash."

The man appeared unmoved by anything Booker said so far. It was almost as if he recited from memory every response to Booker's questions.

"You know us well, DeWitt, and we know you. And while our client prefers to keep his identity confidential, I don't think I need to keep it from you who are you going to work for. The address in New York is 154 Nassau Street, go there if you have any further questions about the job. Ask for Mr. Ford, he will give you rest of the items you will need."

The man strolled over to the bedside table and picked up Booker's Pinkerton badge. He blew the dust off from it and walked back over to the desk, tossing it in front of the former agent.

"Before you leave for the job, I suggest you clean yourself up. We don't want our contracted agent to look like a dockworker or smell like an Irishman, and the 'natives' up there most likely won't let you through the front door if you look like either."


	2. Chapter 2 - The Flight

**Thank you for your interest guys! While it may seem like a rerun of the game events at the start and be a bit slow, I feel like this is something that has to be in the story and isn't much different from what was originally envisioned. Keeping in mind the theme of a lighthouse in Bioshock, I decided to slightly modify few things but leave it otherwise. They will tell you what kind of city Columbia is this time around. Expect things to look differently in the next chapter!**

* * *

**The Flight**

The storm outside raged, battering the fisherman's hut, wind banging on the windows with heavy drops of water. The interior of the hut was illuminated by couple of small oil lamps, shedding meagre light on Booker and his "associates", barely making difference to the darkness that was around them. The two "associates" were wearing yellow raincoats and hats and seemed quite impatient with him, their arms crossed and engaged in annoying smalltalk. But he paid them no mind.

Booker was browsing through the contents of his box yet again, making sure that everything he got from that Ford fella was there. The silver dollar coins marked with Columbian eagle, entry permit into the city issued to Pinkertons and several cards, advertising "Monument Island", calling codes and the photograph. There was also a strange metal key, marked with a bird and a cage on it, purpose of which he yet had to find out. He checked his pockets too – Pinkerton badge, pack of smokes, watch.

He was ready as he was ever going to be, especially jumping into an unknown place like that. He closed the emptied box. '_Property of Booker DeWitt_.

"Lets go already, DeWitt! The weather won't get any better, and the lighthouse isn't that far away, you won't ruin your suit. That much." The man in the raincoat spoke up, visibly bored by the procedure.

While initially apathetic to the idea, Booker did change his vest and scarf for a blue pin-striped suit and a loose red tie. It wasn't exactly the attire of his choice, but the man back at the office had a point – he wasn't hoping for a red carpet but they wouldn't let him through if he looked like a thug. It was enough that he was one.

"Lets go then." Booker replied as he got up.

The boat swayed from side to side, fighting its way through the disturbed sea. The rain eased up slightly, but the wind and the cold made Booker shiver slightly.

"I suppose you think this was a good idea?" the pair in raincoats, currently busy with rowing and steering the boat talked to each other in seeming ignorance of the raging weather and of the passenger they had.

"Well, there were other options, but do you think they were appropriate?"

"The likelihood is that the entire masquerade could have been avoided."

"Yes, but that would ruin the operation."

"Do you think he enjoys going through all this?"

"I could have told him."

"But you didn't."

"But I wouldn't, and you know why."

Booker wasn't interesting in their small talk. No doubt more gibberish, the likes of which he heard back in his office with the "mysterious benefactor".

Booker was never a man who believed in miracles; so far life taught him that the only miracle was that he was still alive and of sound enough mind to care about breathing, but the entire sequence of the "Columbia assignment" felt like a dream. The very fact that Pinkertons needed him was strange enough and made him wary of the job.

It was ironic, he thought; Pinks threw him out because of his 'methods' and now they wanted him back for a mysterious job. Either he got better or they got worse and needed him urgently. He knew which answer was more likely, but as long as he had the chance to solve his problems and get paid on top of it, he wasn't going to complain.

While he dealt with harder situations, he was nervous when he went back to the Pinkerton head office, where he was met with a mixture of friendly pats on the back and disgusted stares. He did not care for either, being gone from there long enough to forget any connection he might had to the place. It was what was waiting for him that made him nervous. Mr. Ford, a rough looking man with a thin mustache and dull eyes, handed Booker another envelope which contained the key, coins and the entry ticket. He barely explained any of it, save for "lighthouse off of the coast in Maine" and "a long flight."

This entire secrecy got real old to him pretty quickly, but job is a job. Second chances were rare and he knew that, despite what the preacher down at the river would have you believe.

Booker broke out of his train of thought. His jacket was getting heavier as it soaked up more and more rain. "Hey, how much longer is this going to take?"

The "associates" continued on talking to each other without answering to Booker, but it was apparent that the boat ride lost its charm to them too.

"How about you give me a hand?"

"With what?"

"The rowing."

"I'm fine, thank you. Besides, it's a task more suited for you."

"Still, I would appreciate if you could assist."

"Why don't you ask him? I imagine he has greater interest in getting there than we do."

Booker did not hesitate to cut in. "No thanks, I'm fine for rowing."

"And that is why I didn't bother asking. He doesn't row."

"He doesn't row? I suppose you will have to do it yourself then."

"Your concern is touching."

In the distance Booker started to make out contours and the slowly rotating light of the lighthouse as the boat gradually got nearer. As they got closer, Booker remembered about the 'calling card' that was supposed to get him into the city from the lighthouse. He barely understood any of it, but the instructions were clear. He pulled out the card and looked at it; it had holes in it in a specific sequence – it was a punch card that looked like it was to be slotted into a machine.

"Hey, do you know how this thing works?" he took the card and tried to giving it to the non-rowing associate, but he only received a curt reply.

"You will know what to do once you see it."

The boat got closer to the wooden pier, from where it was possible to access the rocky outcropping where the lighthouse stood. As they finally came to a halt, Booker left the boat and got up on the pier.

"What am I supposed to do now? Is anyone meeting me here?"

"I certainly hope so, this is an awful place to be stranded."

The "associates" paid him no further mind and chatted away as they turned the boat around for a return trip.

"I still think the exercise is pointless. This will fall apart."

"You don't know that. One does not undertake an action knowing one could fail."

"The probability of it failing…"

Their voices got dimmer and were drowned out in the wind and the rain that ceaselessly battered Booker.

The place was deserted. Booker did not waste any time standing around the pier any longer as soon as he lost sight of the boat's lamp, and headed towards the lighthouse.

As he got up to the door of the building he noticed a note pinned to it. It read:

_You have only chance DeWitt!_

_Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt!_

_Do not disappoint us!_

He got the message clearly, but someone was insistent on making a point. Whoever wanted that girl, wanted her badly. He knocked on the door

"Hello? Is anyone in there? Its Booker DeWitt, I'm here to…"

No answer. He grabbed the handle and opened the door. Entering the poorly lit interior of the lighthouse, Booker saw a framed sign on a pillar and a wash basin under it on a table and a stack of towels nearby.

_Let the wellspring of Freedom refresh your tired Mind_

"No chance pal." He was already soaked to the bone by the rain outside, still feeling the dampness of his jacket. As he headed towards the stairs, he was welcomed by yet another sign hanging on the wall.

_The_ _air of America_ _is too pure for any foreigner to breathe_

He slowly got up the round stairs of the lighthouse, looking around carefully. The place seemed lifeless. On the first floor of the light house he found a desk, a bunk and a working radio. It looked as if someone was here not long ago, because he found another note pinned to a map above the desk.

_DeWitt will be here soon. _

_Make sure he does not interfere_

_He must not reach the city!_

_- C_

"So much for my cover." Still, there was no sign of what to do or how to get to Columbia. He picked up the phone, in vain hope that there is someone he had to contact or call up a transport. The phone was dead.

He browsed through papers scattered on the desk but saw nothing but maps, schedules and other paperwork one usually sees at a customs office. Luckily, it appeared that the "flying fair" was above Maine right now, if the timetable and the big map on the wall were to be believed.

"I suppose this is self-service now." He took up another flight of stairs, leading him up to the next floor. These stairs too were adorned a slogan similar to the one he saw downstairs.

_So the Lord gave his people spirit to rise above all others _

The second floor was pitch black, save for the single electric lamp hanging form the ceiling, illuminating a gruesome scene. Booker was used to inflicting violence, but the sight of it was never one he enjoyed.

A dead man was tied to a chair. His head was covered by a cloth sack, but by the looks of the blood smeared on the walls and the floor, it was apparent that the man's face was gone. Here too, another message addressed to Booker was attached to the man's shirt.

_Do not disappoint us!_

Whoever was employing him made sure that there were no obstacles and plenty of reminders about what he had to do, and he had only one way to go. Up, another flight of stairs and another slogan.

_And spread Liberty on Columbia's wings _

He got to the top of the lighthouse and was welcomed back by rain. There seemed to be no sign of what to do next, the only things left were the lantern room and the slowly rotating lamp that periodically bathed Booker in light.

He walked up to the door of the lantern, and saw an elaborate metal door, with what seemed to be a special slot. It finally clicked with him what the card was for. It looked like punch cards used with mechanical organs or factory machines. Perhaps this one would send a signal or open some passage?

He pulled out the punch card and slotted it in. As soon as the card disappeared in the slot, the lamp of the lighthouse went out, and what looked to be three dark metal bells appeared inside the lantern.

The card seemed to activate the playing device, because the bells started chiming in a musical sequence. After they ringed out their tone, they received a reply in form of a massive horn and red light from above that engulfed the lighthouse and its immediate vicinity.

"Whoah, what in the world..?"

The bells started ringing again, but this time they were accompanied by the lighthouse's lamp that begun blinking with red light in rhythm with the notes of the bells. The horn and lights repeated again once more before going dead. The ringing and lights stopped and the door of the lantern opened automatically, and a metal chair with red cushions appeared.

"Alright, looks like they expect me to sit in their fancy chair." He still did not know what was going to happen. Was he supposed to sit here and wait for a balloon? Or maybe the lighthouse had hidden cannon to launch people into the sky? He shook his head and chucked at the nonsensical idea. There was only one way to find out. He got in to the chair, still unsure of what would follow. And what followed was the most unexpected 60 seconds of his life .

"Hey so, what now… what the..?!"

The restraints that were attached to the chair suddenly clamped down on his hands and legs, the space around him closed with metal sheets and a mechanical female voice appeared out of nowhere.

"_Restraints are provided for the safety of the passengers._

_Prepare for atmospheric ascent in 5… 4… 3… 2… "_

Booker and the chair tilted forward, with his gun and some of the Columbian coins falling into engines below that begun warming up.

"Shit! No no no… Goddamnit!.."

The chair tilted back and the last metal panel with an oval window closed in front of him, shutting him close in a capsule.

"…_1 … Atmospheric ascent commenced"_

Booker was squished in his chair as the capsule launched itself from the lighthouse. Restrained and pressed down by the acceleration, he couldn't do anything.

"Alright, gotta stay calm…"

_2000 feet achieved… 5000… _

They broke through the canopy of the dark clouds and entered milky haze.

_10000…15,000… Ascent complete. Welcome in the land of the free._

The shock of the flight was replaced by the jaw-dropping sight outside – Buildings, platforms, airships, bridges and people, all suspended in the air. The city was literally sitting on top of the clouds and drifting through the perfectly blue sky like dandelion fluff, with sun bathing it in a radiant glow. The female announcer's voice was replaced by a soft, slowly playing tune, making it nothing short of a dream. Yet here it was, in front of his eyes.

The capsule started dropping, but its descent was slowed down by a parachute that opened at the top and landed with a metallic thud on a ramp that started lowering itself into a building as soon as it landed.

* * *

**Development draft comparisons**: The only thing I changed here are the slogans that you see in the lighthouse and Booker's appearance, in line with the trailer and the demos, where Booker can be seen wearing a pin-striped suit. This follows the line of art development, where Booker's looks went through many changes and finally ended on the current vest a and scarf. With the slogans, I tried to keep the line on American Exceptionalism and nationalism, that were the key themes of Columbia during development. Look forward to more of it.


	3. Chapter 3 - City upon a Hill

**Thank you for the interest and the feedback! This chapter took me a while, mostly for reasons unrelated to writing. Here we have our first differences and different events. So far the broad story frame remains similar, but that will be slowly diverging as we go along.**

* * *

**City upon a Hill**

The ramp holding the capsule lowered itself onto a platform in what looked like the interior of Grand Central Terminal – except of trains, people were waiting for gondolas and airships, with big open arches revealing the sky and platforms hanging in the air.

The mechanical ramp that brought the capsule down stopped alongside a row of other similar capsules and after a moment of mechanical whirring, the restraints on the chair were released and the capsule's front panel slid down.

"I don't think I'm doing that again." As he got up, he rubbed his wrists and got out of the capsule onto a raised platform. The walkway from the platform led him to a gate and a booth at the platform exit, with the serious looking "Columbia Customs and Excise" emblem above and policemen guarding it.

They abruptly stopped their small talk as soon as Booker approached the booth. They clearly weren't expecting any new immigrants, so they eyed the man in a suit with apprehensive stares.

"Hah, we got a customer, and he doesn't look like any of those wretches we had a month ago." The man behind the counter said to his comrades at the gate.

"So, I take you are no laborer or alien eh? No baggage?" The man eyed Booker with his small, intense eyes as he corrected his glasses.

"I just want to enter the city. I'm American." Booker pulled out the permit and papers he got from Pinks. The man took them and begun reading.

Ho ho, boys, we got a fancy one! A 'special investigator on request of Councilor Bowles'. What are you gonna be investigatin', Mr. Chase?"

"That's not for you to know" Booker pulled out his badge and flashed it to the man.

The papers were fakes of course, but they were enough to help him bluff his way though the guards. He didn't expect them to work a second time though.

He walked through the station towards the exit.

As he opened the doors, he was welcomed by yet another stunning sight – a grand sky bridge, connecting the station with gate to Columbia proper. The skyway was lined up with gleaming statues of trumpeting angels on both sides and visible in the distance were more floating buildings, slowly moving airships and metal rails, twisting and turning between buildings with big containers moving as they hung from the rails. To top it all off, above the gate there was an enormous a poster of a man, dressed like a colonial-era costume and striking a heroic pose, pointing with his hand towards horizon to a family that stood next to him. The blue sky and the bright light of the sun at this altitude gave the place heavenly feeling. Booker wondered if he ever saw a sky as blue or a day as bright as the one he was now seeing.

"Where am I?"

"In heaven my friend, or as close you can get to it until judgement day," Booker's astonishment was answered by an elderly gentleman who passed him by. He started walking towards the gate across the bridge, craning his neck around and taking in the sights. Buildings looked opulent and grand, floating on giant platforms with baloons and giant propelers attached to them, while the bridge itself and the street beyond were bustling with people.

He walked under the arch of the gate, with "Columbia Welcomes You" written across. The gate led straight through to an immense Welcome Center that was filled to the brim with various souvenirs of the city and typically patriotic items like flags and posters. Red, white and blue, as far as the eye could see. The place also doubled for a museum, as Booker passed by various artefacts encased in glass and the ominous looking statues of Washington, Franklin and others that had their place on marble pedestals, standing around the hall of the building. While not unusual to see such place in what used to be a flying exhibition, it was surprising to see the locals buying those items by the dozen, with equally eager salesmen handing them out. The commotion in here was even greater than in the station.

"Columbian Flags and Old Glory! Gets your flag for Columbia Day!"

Booker pushed through the crowd as quickly as he could and got out to the main street. Here, he was greeted by more flags and it was possible to hear a marching band in the distance. While looking as metropolitan as the Big Apple with its tall buildings, shops and hot dog stalls, Columbia appeared far cleaner, brighter and happier, with people greeting each other and smiling, children playing and overall merriment that was felt everywhere.

Booker smiled to himself cynically. "Even New York doesn't look like that on the 4th". He pulled out a cigarette and started looking for matches, only to realize he didn't have any.

"Excuse me, do you have fire?" Booker inquired from man wearing a top hat that was just passing him by. "As a matter of act, I do, here you go."

"Thanks. Umm, could you tell me how do I get to Monument Island?" Booker showed him the card.

"I'm afraid you're out of luck. The place has been closed. But, if you re still looking for a good sight of it just pass through the Raffle Square, there's a bridge to that place with a straight line of sight at it."

"Thanks."

The job got complicated, but only slightly. He knew where to go, and it seemed like the locals wouldn't pay any attention to him.

It seemed easy to get to the Raffle Square, the banners advertising it and the directions were all over the place. The only thing that fought them for space were immense election posters and banners, urging Columbians to vote. _President Comstock! Hero of Wounded Knee!_

"Hey, watch it where you're going!" Booker bumped into a man engrossed in his newspaper as he walked." I beg your pardon?" The man angrily moved away as Booker went back to looking for the way to the Raffle.

Except the Raffle signs were gone. "What the hell..?" What appeared to be their in place instead was the _Columbia Day Annual Parade and Fair of 1912_.

"This can't be right, I saw it here just a moment ago…" Booker ran ahead to see if he could find the way to the Raffle, but all signs appeared to show the same thing.

So he did the only thing he could think of - he asked another passer-by, but only received surprised stare.

"Raffle? We don't have a raffle in Columbia, do we? Don't you mean Parade Square?"

"No, I was told that to get to Monument Island…"

"But it's closed off, isn't it? What you need to do is go to Parade…"

Booker was getting exasperated with the whole thing. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He decided to follow the instructions anyway, seeing that he had no other way of getting to where he had to. He clenched the Monument Island card in his hand and kept going.

He passed by more attractions, this time a barbershop quartet who was on what appeared to be a floating boat, just off the edge of city.

_I may not always love you  
But long as there are stars above you…_

"Never heard that one before." He mused to himself as he walked by. As he moved on he saw it again. _Raffle and Fair of 1912 _

"Excuse me but would you like to buy a flower? We're raising mone.." Booker angrily waved his hand at a woman selling flowers on the doorstep of a flower shop, just trying to keep his eye on the signs.

And there he saw it, as he walked alongside the edge of the street. A giant statue of Columbia – a young woman dressed in a loose dress and holding her hands stretched outwardly, with an enormous flag held between them, wavering in the wind slowly.

He looked at the card and then back at the monument again, half-buried in the distant mist.

It was then when Booker noticed three men, all dressed in long coats and wearing top hats, that were doing seemingly innocent things –smoking a pipe, sitting on a bench, or reading a newspaper. Except the man reading the paper was the same one he bumped into earlier. Just as the man who gave him fire who was now smoking the pipe, and the one who talked to him at the station on the bench.

He didn't know them, but he knew what they were after. He put the card back in his pocket and started walking slowly towards the fairgrounds, which were just ahead.

The place was full of noise and full of people, all enjoying the festivities and games at the stalls that were set up. Booker continued his slow walk, feigning interesting the stalls and the games.

"These are no fat tales! These are vigorrrs I'm talking about!..."

"Vigors, huh? I saw enough snake oil to know what it looks like" Booker quietly murmured to himself as he walked pass the colourful display.

He did stroll over to one of the games – air rifle shooting. He expertly picked it up, feeling the light toy in his hands and begun picking off the moving targets. It was child's play to him, but he hoped to lose the attention by trying to pass off as a tourist.

"Ah, here you go sir! Brilliant shooting I must say! Are you in Columbian police?"

The man at the stall handed Booker his reward, which was a small coin purse with a dozen or so silver eagles. Booker only gave him a weak smile before moving away. The three stove-pipes followed him incessantly however, trying to avoid drawing too much attention to themselves.

He decided to walk around idly for a while, hoping to lose them in the crowd.

At any other time, Booker would have probably joined the mass of people, all gawking at the mechanical horses, "Automated Bodies" or Voxophone Booker DeWitt wasn't there; only an instinct remained, working to lose people tracking him. While trying to maintain the pace as he dodged between the people, he got closer to the exit from the fair grounds and beyond them, the Parade Square. Or was it the Raffle Square? Booker's mind was trying to scramble a coherent thought, trying to decide which version of the Square he was looking for. He ignored that thought however as it became apparent that the stalkers were closing in.

The Parade Square (which actually was a wide avenue wedged in between the tall buildings on one side and park grounds on the other) were equally busy, with people singing and waving their flags to the scores of young uniformed men and boys, marching in rhythm to the band music.

Booker could barely stop himself from running as he skipped and pushed through the crowd, and he really wanted to sock one of the stalkers in the jaw and get it over with. But he knew this wasn't his town or his rules. He could blow it any minute, if he made a wrong move.

BOOOOOOM!

What came instead of a wrong move was a deafening explosion, shaking the entire square and scattering the people in panic. "It's the Vox! Vox Populi are attacking!"

The parading troopers broke out of their formations and ran towards the site of the explosion, a column of smoke billowing from one of the buildings down the sky bride, away from the avenue.

It was then when Booker felt two pairs of arms nabbing him from behind and twisting them as to hold him in place. The hatters got to him, and their apparent leader, the man who was reading the newspaper, spoke up. With his thick black moustache and intense brown eyes he made a quite imposing presence. He spoke to Booker menacingly.

"Well, well, here we have our little infiltrator. What are you doing in Columbia? Why do you want to get to the Monument Island, hmm? Don't you know it's off-limits?

He did not wait for an answer, only flashed his teeth in a sinister grin and gave an order to his associates.

"Fellas, sort him out. No one will care if we add one more body to the count today."

The man on Booker's left moved his hand forward and revved up something that looked like a rotating blade with hooks attached to it. Surely enough he moved it closer with the intention of shoving it into Booker's face. While he saw the tool for the first time in his life, he knew what the results would be. With one powerful motion, he tore his left hand out of the lock and grabbed the tool-wielder by his wrist, mashing the rotating tool in to the face of the thug on his right.

"AAARGHHHhh…"

Booker felt the grip of the man on the right loosen as he dropped dead on the pavement with the tool in his face, while the one on the left recoiled in shock.

Booker did not hesitate to grab the implement by sticking his hand in it and swung it at the hatter who just dropped it.

With a mixture of rage and murderous glee, he stuck the hook in the man's neck and pulled the trigger that activated the rotor, snapping it with a satisfying crunch.

"Alright, looks like I'm not undercover anymore." The last of the stalker trio already ran, trying to put some distance between Booker and himself.

It was then when the man pulled out a golden-coloured bottle and uncapped it, taking a big swig. Come to think of it, Booker was feeling thirsty too, and some whiskey would ease his nerves about now.

But the man wasn't drinking booze, because shortly after he started twitching unnaturally and his whole body started to convulse.

"What the…"

The shakes stopped and the man flashed his teeth at Booker again with a mad glint in his eye. He threw his hand forward in a fluid motion, as if doing an underhand knife throw. But instead of a knife, a big shockwave came rumbling towards Booker, picking up loose stones and pieces of trash that were around.

"Whoa! What the hell is this?"

He found himself floating several feet above the ground, feeling as if he was suspended in water, but not quite floating. The disorientation that accompanied the experience did little to make Booker less nervous about the approach of his opponent, who drew a butterfly knife from his pocket and swung it around in his hand as he got closer.

"So DeWitt, any last words before you depart?"

The effect of the drink wore off, as Booker fell to the ground with a thud. Sprawled on his back, he winced slightly in pain before replying.

"Go to hell." He activated the rotor of the tool and swung it at the man's leg, who was just about to take a stab at him and felled him in a spectacular flip.

The assassin yelled out in pain as he clutched his torn leg, rolling on the ground where Booker felled him. His cries were quickly silenced by a blow to the head.

"Next time I have to ask for more details on the job. What the hell is that thing?" he mused to himself as he inspected the Skyhook. "Fastest transport in Columbia… huh."

He did not hesitate to rifle through the bodies of his assailants but finding little beyond few more coins and the golden bottle. The cap was a stylised cowboy on a bucking horse.

"Bucking Bronco… toss your enemies in air... limited use per bottle…So those aren't quack medicine after all. " He shuddered, recalling the shakes the man got after drinking it, but then he compared it with shakes one got after drinking rotgut in one of New York's many dens. And only one of them gave you inhuman powers.

He uncapped the bottle's elaborate cowboy top and gave it an experimental sniff, before downing it all in one mouthful.

"Ough…cough…blehuhh…" While Booker didn't know how horse tasted like, it definitely smelled like it, mixed with a heap of dirt and ammonia.

His vision got shaky, just as his hands did, vibrating so intensely as to literally have the flesh rumble and break of in pieces before settling down after a moment.

His hands still shook just a little bit and itched terribly when he dropped the bottle and resumed his walk towards the Monument Island across the deserted avenue.

He was hoping that the coppers wouldn't pick up on what just happened, but there was little he could do to avoid attention with his suit ruined with full frontal gore and a mechanical meat cleaver in his hand. He quickly made his way through the empty park that separated the parade ground from the bridge to Monument Island.

And there it was, towering over the floating city, glistening in the sun with its bronze body, the enormous statue of America personified, the flag billowing in the wind between her arms, stretched out in a frozen call. But for all her beckoning, Booker could not comply.

The bridge was closed.

* * *

**Development notes**: For the city entrance I took cues from the Art Book (those who have it will recognize the entrance description) and the attempt to generate an image of a turn of the century city that dos not rely on religious zealotry but the Americana that was so prominent in the pre-release material. I am not very good with vivid descriptions and wanted to be more accurate about looks of Columbia, but we all played the game so we are roughly on the same page. I might do some corrections of style and the descriptions later but I didn't want to cook this any more than I had to.


	4. Chapter 4 - Monument of Dreams

**And here we have another part of DeWitt's job! Things have been changed dramatically from what we have in the game at this stage, as I'm saving up things for later reveal, as well as introducing new stuff in here. I'm doing this for you guys as much as for my own enjoyment, so please leave feedback - what you like and dislike and I will take everything into account. Look for editorial at the bottom!**

* * *

**Monument of Dreams**

Booker gave a resigned sigh. What looked like easy few hundred yard walk was made impossible by a raised bridge, the platform connecting the Monument Island with Parade Square drifting vertically in the air and mocking him.

He threw a glance at the surrounding area, but it seemed like there was little in way of unlocking it or restoring the bridge either.

But that was just another worry he had to add to his list. They had his scent and if he didn't get to the girl soon, the job was scotched.

He leisurely walked back through the park to the main square, picking up a bottle of beer from an abandoned stall. He was stuck in a flying city with no way to do his job and having put down 3 men down in under an hour from his arrival. Maybe Columbia wasn't so different from New York, or maybe it was simply his luck.

But he did not give up yet. He gulped down his drink and walked down the half-deserted street, hoping to come up with something.

And surely enough, a sign showing the way to the Columbia Transit station provided him with an alternative.

"Monument Island trains… Bingo."

He quickened his pace, not wanting to delay this any more or be caught. The way to the station led him in the direction of the bomb blast, with smoke still visible in the distance and the smell of burnt wood and gunpowder in the air.

"I can't catch a break, can I?"

The road further ahead was cordoned off, with red police barricades and a small crowd gathered around them blocking the passage. People were pushing and asking questions, either looking at what happened or trying to negotiate their way past in an attempt to reach the station.

It wasn't looking good. Without a gun and with looks of a butcher, he felt naked, and the crowd wasn't really easing his nerves either. He turned around to make his way back to the square, maybe there was a different way around. But as he did, he came face to face with an older woman, who was just approaching the cordon.

"Oh my goodness, what happened to you? You got blood all over your…." She glanced at the skyhook in his hand, the dried gore all over it.

"Oh my god… it's the Vo-"

Just as she was about to raise her voice, Booker saw something incredible – woman's face froze momentarily and her eyes started glowing with hard yellow light, while her face started to shimmer like hot air in the desert or grainy film footage, phasing itself in and out in a strange effect.

Booker took couple of steps back, stunned by what was happening. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if that beer was any fresh or maybe he was dreaming or maybe he finally lost it and it was all a hallucination.

Her face was still in flux when she let out an unnatural, piercing shriek, turning all heads in her direction.

"Shit, this is getting bad." He didn't wait to see what would happen next, but turned and walked back towards the cordon. In a corner of his eye he caught a sight of a big bar sign. The place looked safe and untouched, and most importantly, it didn't seem overly busy. Booker dived right in, avoiding the policemen rushing to the warping woman.

The interior was dark, the curtains raised over windows letting in little light. The place was relatively empty, save for few patrons nursing their drinks at the bar.

"What can I get you, son? You look like you've seen a ghost." The jovial bartender noticed Booker enter and called him over to the bar with a wave of a hand.

"That was no ghost. But I've never seen a person do a thing like that …" Booker leaned on the bar while the bartender put an empty glass in front of him and poured whiskey into it.

"Oh, you mean we got another disturbed one? There's more and more of them, but no one can tell why. Its those damn Vigors or one of Fink's contraptions, I bet."

Booker only stared at the glass before taking it and quickly drinking it. Warmth of the liquor put him at ease.

"Hey, do you know if there is a way past the cordon, I really need to get to the station."

The bartender looked at Booker hesitantly, mulling over the request. Poor lightning couldn't disguise the stains on Booker's suit.

"I dunno son, I wouldn't mess with the lawmen if I were you."

"I'm not here to make trouble. I just need to get to the station."

The bartender poured him another one, before leaning in and answering Booker in half-voice.

"There's a service door behind the bar, it will lead you out to an alleyway behind the buildings, it should get you behind the roadblock. Don't make too much noise and you should be able to get to the station. But I would advise you to clean yourself up, before you leave, there should be some cleaning soda in the back."

Booker threw back the second pouring, and pulled out couple of coins.

"Much obliged. Where's the door?"

The bartender pointed to the door just at the end of the bar.

Booker went for the door and got out to the service area behind the bar and then the back alley, from where he made his way to the street jut outside of the station. The coppers were still at the roadblock so he didn't have any trouble getting into the station.

Yet, getting to the station itself was a problem. The gondolas that were meant to take passengers were here, but there was no way to activate them. No switch, level. Nothing that could be seen at a first glance.

"Just my luck. Alright, letsee.."

He wandered from one train to another and all over the platform, looking for way to activate the line. The last place that remained to be checked was the station's booth, which Booker opened with a swift kick.

There he found the panel with all the levers and switches activating he trains. The panel was clearly labelled and it looked that the only thing he would need to do is to throw the right switch.

"Monument Island. Just what I need." He pulled the level activating the train, but all he got in response was a nasty horn and a refusal by an automated voice.

"_I'm sorry, but it appears that train service to Monument Island has been suspended. Insert authorization card to unlock the line." _

Booker groaned but had no intention of relenting.

"I have your card right here." He raised the skyhook and activated the rotor, bringing the hooks to life, before driving it into the console, metal yielding as it was torn with sparks and wires flying to the sides. After a burst of static and mechanical whirring, the mechanical announcer came back to life again

"_Thank you for activating the transit line to Monument Island. The train will be leaving now. Have a good day!"_

And true to its word, the train came to life, short bell ringing as it departed, moving away slowly from the platform with Booker still in the booth. It took him a split second to realize what was happening, as his legs started moving on their own, leaping hard across the station platform. But it felt too slow for him, like running kneed-deep in mud. Just few inches more and Booker DeWitt would fall down to his death if he did not make the jump.

He was running as fast as he could, and as the train was about to slip away from him, he made a leap for it. He almost made it, falling short those few inches, his upper body slamming hard against the deck of the train, with his legs dangling down the side. He fumbled for a bit before he grabbed the edge of the train and hoisted himself up, wheezing hard.

"Heh, that's the last time I'm doing something like that."

Something told him however that it wasn't the last time he would have to perform gravity-defying stunts- a flying city with no sure ground underneath your feet was just the place for such aerial tricks. But for now, he was back on track. The Monument Island loomed large on the horizon as the train slowly made its way towards it.

Finally, it was time for a small break. Booker had to collect his thoughts, after making a mess of the job straight out of the front door. Now, he managed to make his way past security towards the Island, but what next? Was the girl protected? Would he meet much resistance? All he had was a skyhook and that vigor he downed, but it didn't seem enough. Without a gun, he felt naked. Getting out seemed like a tough job too, but he would worry about that later.

The gondola slowed down as it approached the platform on the side of the front entrance to the Monument Island.

He stepped off onto the platform and followed the big marble staircase to the heavy front doors. Strangely enough, they were not locked. He entered slowly, looking around, poised to jump at anything that would startle him. The grandiose interior of the ticket hall betrayed signs of disuse, with dusty benches, paint falling off the wooden shutters of the ticket booths and the pieces of old newpapers strewn across the floor.

It looked like he was the only living being in here. Booker pushed on and entered a large courtyard with a dried out fountain that led him directly to the tall metal gate blocking the path forward. The black gate was generously labeled with signs warning against entry as well as big, heavy chains locking it all down.

"Well, there it is, Monument Island", he said to himself. It was strange however, he thought. It didn't seem like a place to hold a young girl – what were these people afraid of?

The gate was shut tight, and it didn't look like skyhook would be any good against those chains. Booker leaned on the gate, trying to come up with something, the skyhook still in his hand. It was then when he felt a strange tug on it, as if something tried to lift it upwards, with him still attached to the hook, and it was pulling damn hard.

"What the…"

He took a step back and raised the hook up to look at it. It was then when he was pulled off the ground into the air, an invisible hand dragging him up by the skyhook and latching it solidly to the service hook that hung just above the gate.

Booker was astounded, holding the skyhook with both his hands and hanging from it like a cherry on a tree.

"Woah, the damn hook must be magnetized." While giving him scares for a brief moment, it solved his problem of getting around the gate, as he was now dangling high above it. A sharp tug on the hook released him, the force of the magnetized hook slowing his fall enough to avoid a hard landing. He was now on the other side and the road to the tower was now open.

* * *

**Development notes comparison:** We have another two features from the game that were abandoned or scaled back - Columbia Trains and tear affected people. Just as we had batyspheres in Rapture that allowed us to go all over the place and trace back our steps, so we had Transit system in Columbia, that apart from using the gondolas connecting specific parts within city districts, also ran trains that follow skylines and tethers and connect other places in Columbia over greater distances. As the game became more linear, so the transit got cut and only gondolas were left in.  
Tear affected people - we have those in the game but as they appeared in the initial drafts they were meant to be bit more similar to splicers, where their appearance and increased activity would show the increasing decay and destabilization of the city. Their appearance and status were to be more spontaneous as well, not directly connected with Elizabeth's tear jumping. It ties into the plot so look out for more of those guys.


	5. Chapter 5 - Angel of Columbia

**And here we have another chapter! Bit of an explanation on the writing here, as some things might not be entirely clear. Despite the rewrite and alternative take on some things, this retelling will include some sections as present in the current game, and given my desire to make this a thorough retelling some things will feature only small alterations. Also, please leave comments and reviews on everything that you like and everything that you dislike, thats the only way I can make this better!**

* * *

**Angel of Columbia**

Booker pushed on towards the front entrance of the tower, another big stairway and another angelic state that stood in the front. This one had an open scroll in its hand, which reminded him of the texts he saw in the Lighthouse.

_Lord shall lift her above all others_

_and spread Liberty on her wings _

He didn't' think much of it though. He has almost halfway done with his job and Manifest Destiny mattered to him as much as yesterday's paper.

He entered the tower through big double doors, which opened to a round antechamber full of half-opened lockers, scattered clothing and big warning signs. The place looked as much abandoned as the entry hall, dust covering everything in a thin sheet, but unlike it, the antechamber looked as if it was abandoned in haste.

The warning signs and a red line painted in front of the doors to the interior didn't do much to deter the investigator, who, still treading carefully, moved further inside.

A small corridor led him to what looked like a lab, big boards and charts studying human growth with banks of electrical equipment all around the walls, vomiting sparks onto scorched blue carpet.

Booker did not hesitate to look through the desks there to find few coins and moved on. The place was eerie, but he was slowly growing accustomed to it.

The next room was similar to the previous one, full of electrical buzzing and sparks, except for the big machine set up in the middle, with two tesla coils feeding it with energy through powerful arcs that jumped across the room. Smell of ozone was all-present, and even stronger than after a thunderstorm.

The machine itself had three levers and three items inside glass containers with apparatus pointing at them.

Booker could not help himself. As weird as this place was, he felt intrigued by those machines and experiments. It was a strange place to hold a girl indeed, so his curiosity only grew.

"I wonder what these do."

He stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around the first lever, pulling it down. The machine came to life, throwing a spotlight on the glass container and a small arc of energy zapped the first item inside the glass, which was an ordinary teddy bear. But instead of being fried, the toy was lifted in the air and levitated inside the container for good ten seconds, before dropping down.

Now there was no helping his curiosity, he had to know what the other ones did. There was no harm in it anyway with no alarms, no guards and nothing blew up yet.

The second lever revealed a small metal bell, that unlike the teddy was hit with a beam of yellow light, which heated it up immensely, as Booker saw the bell glow red.

The third item was a "poetry book", as the label on the container stated. This lever did not fry the book or made it levitate but instead after being hit by the blue spark , it began to shimmer and phase in and out for brief couple of seconds ,with the same grainy quality to it as the woman's face at the plaza, Booker suddenly recalled. What happened though was that book went from being brown to green.

"Huh, they really have something else going on here, don't they?"

Booker was amazed the display, but he slowly grew accustomed to the weird things from the moment he entered the flying city. There wasn't much left that would surprise him, he thought, although that was more of hid wilful oblivousness to things rather than acceptance fo them. He gave up figuring out how the city stayed in the air the moment he stepped out of the station.

The last doors led him to a corridor with smaller rooms alongside it and a pairs of heavy cables on either side, connecting the machinery in the lab with the room up ahead.

Booker decided to check out the rooms on the side first. He still walked softly, armed only with a skyhook and a Vigor he did not know how to use properly. But the place was dead, with nothing but the buzz of machines, sparks and the all-present smell of ozone.

The first of the rooms was protected by a heavy pressurised door, which revealed an examination room. However, the room wasn't just a medical station - it had an operating theatre separated by glass, full of surgical tools and a chair with restraints, while the shelves around the room were full of samples of hair, nails and blood. The sinister purpose of the place quickly got to Booker, who looked around the room with increasing revulsion.

"What are they doing to her?"

He turned around and left the room, entering the one next to it. It appeared to be a dark room, harsh crimson light illuminating the photographic equipment, photographs drying out on a wire and a an active radio playing an unknown song. The photos only added to Booker's growing dislike of the place.

"They've been watching her."

It was apparent that the girl was unaware of the camera as she was photographed while dressing up, washing or brushing her hair. No detail of her privacy was left unaccounted for.

Booker left to check out the last room, which turned out to be a small projection room, with chairs turned over and scattered all over the place. The only object still in its place was the projector. Booker walked over to it and flipped the switch, curious as to what movie could they be possibly viewing in such place.

Instead of a movie, Booker got a reel of observation notes, all looking at the girl and commenting on her behavior.

_4/15/12  
Specimen investigating codes_

_5/20/12  
Specimen Painting_

_Specimen Singing_

_Specimen... _

_Specimen... _

She was just an object for them, a lab rat to be observed and prodded.

Booker had fallen on hard times and didn't hesitate to do some pretty shady things when push came to shove. He didn't believe in the crap that temperance league or the preacher spewed daily on the corner streets back in New York. But this time, something stirred in him.

There was no hiding that he was doing this job for his own reasons, but the girl didn't deserve to be treated like this. For all the bizarre things so far, there was at least a worthwhile cause to it, something that he could use to justify this whole affair.

He left the projector room and moved on. The cables running down the corridor led him to the main chamber of the lab, with big contraption in the middle, full of what looked like speakers, more coils and arcs of energy jumping between them all, filling it with what looked like blueish liquid inside the contraption. The constant buzz and cracking as if radio was left on untuned was all present, with distant echo of distorted signing, which made all speakers vibrate quickly as they sucked up blueish energy out of the air.

Booker didn't like it, he could feel his hair rise, no doubt the fault of static in the air, while the ozone started to burn his throat, so potent was the smell in here, mixed with acrid ether that hung in the chamber with blueish mist. He quickly descended the stairs in the main chamber, following the path to the lift that was on the opposite side. He didn't even bother looking at more warnings, chief scientist and his quarantine be damned.

The elegant looking lift had only one button and it quickly took Booker to what looked like an observation room, with heavy shutters closed on the viewing pane. Booker pulled the lever to open them and the shutters pulled apart, revealing small room with a table full of broken locks and picks and a board with codes arranged on it in a neat grid.

Thats how they spied on her, he thought to himself. He followed a metal corridor to his left, taking him deeper inside the facility. He immediately spotted a "specimen locator" which lit up names of the sections of the tower where the "specimen" was. Booker pressed the button and received a reply when "dressing room" lit up on the panel of the locator.

"Right, thats where I need to go."

He followed the dark steel corridor, the electric lamps hanging above did little to dispel the murky feel of the place. For a structure so high in the sky, it felt remarkably like a dungeon. Oddly fitting given its purpose, he remarked to himself.

He entered the next viewing room, which like the previous one, had its shutters closed on the viewing pane. He also noticed a camera set up on a tripod here, no doubt to take more of those "specimen" pictures.

"SPECIMEN PRESENT" glowed above the viewing pane, inviting Booker to open the shutters which he promptly did.

And there she was, the girl he was tasked with rescuing. She was pretty, there was no denying that. Hell, she was more than pretty. The black and white picture couldn't show the dark brown of her hair, tied in that ponytail or the blue of her eyes. Her face was soft, with a straight nose, small chin and delicate lips. She wore a blue dress with a white blouse and blue and gold collar and a blue scarf around it. She held a postcard in her hands, which she seemed to play around with.

She looked at Booker, who momentarily froze in shock, but she only corrected her hair with her delicate hand. He realised that this must be a two-way mirror. She suddenly dropped the card and clutched her hand, mourning a small papercut on her pinkie. It didn't last long before she picked up the postcard and with a theatrical gesture pressed it to her chest with a dreamy smile on her face, before running off to another room.

The shutters closed and Booker was left in the darkness again. He followed the corridor further down and found another locator, directing him to dining room.

He followed her and opened the shutters in another room. This time it was full of paintings and drawings. these ranged form infantile scribbles to a full-blown landscapes and nature pieces. She already stood in front of the one on the easel, picturing Eiffel Tower at night. With a mischievous smile, she clasped her hands in front of the painting and pulled them apart as if she was opening up a curtain.

"Whoah!"

Booker couldn't help gasping as he saw what she was doing - she was opening up a gash in the painting, that emitted the same, black and white grainy light. But she opened it up only slightly, having a visible difficulty keeping it open. What looked like opening up curtains now resembled a struggle to keep her arms stretched out to the sides, as if holding two blocks and preventing them from crushing her. But that didn't last long, as the struggle got too heavy and the gash closed in a snap turning over the easel and the painting, throwing her back against the glass.

"So thats why they are keeping her here. But that has nothing to do with the job at hand."

The shutter closed and Booker was left alone with his experience. As incredible as it was, he still needed to get her out.

He followed the corridor down further, this time being pointed to the library. It snaked upwards and the next viewing revealed to him a spacious chamber, unlike the previous rooms, and a big window to the outside on a tall dais, where the girl stood. She was looking into distance, observing the sky and the city outside. she held her hand outstretched in front of the window, as if looking through her fingers at the horizon and she slowly lowered it and her shoulders sagged.

He stepped away from the glass and moved towards the library, with the iron corridor leading him out to heavy sealed doors. A little push later and he found himself on the outside, strong wind blowing at the top of the tower. The aerial acrobatics were far from over.

"Whoa, steady DeWitt, you can do this," he reassured himself as the high wind caught his jacket and pushed against him.

He slowly made his way up, holding on to the chain that made up the railing alongside the ramp. He finally made his way towards the other door, which opened as he approached it. Now, the path to the library was straightforward. He would only need to get through that steel cage ahead of him and...

As soon as he stepped onto the round plate that made up the bottom of the giant cage, one of the chains that held the bottom snapped under Booker's weight, then another. In but a moment, he found himself falling from the ceiling of the library, grabbing a railing of the dais midway in his fall.

The face of a terrified girl clutching a book stared at him intently from above.

"Uhh... Hello?"

She shrieked out in terror, scaring Booker and sending him reeling on the floor. She quickly mustered her resolve however, as one book after another started hitting the downed agent.

Hey, ough.. knock it off! Stop it! WILL YOU STOP IT? I'm not here to hurt you."

The girl ran down the stairs, hefting a heavy book, raising it protectively. She lifted it over Booker.

"Who are you?"

Booker lifted his hand defensively, getting up from the floor.

"My name's DeWitt. I'm a friend. I've come to get you out of here."

He reached out to calm the girl, but she only pulled back, swinging her book at him.

"Get away!"

Booker only needed to raise his hand to stop the meek, but spirited self-defense of the young woman. After few tries, she stopped and eased. Her expression turned from one of anger to that of amazement, her blue orbs staring intensely at the man in front of her. She reached out with her hand, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. Booker did nothing to stop her.

"Are you real?"

"Real enough."

The moment seemingly lasted for ages, her hand touching his face, her blue eyes staring into his green. But the moment was over in a mere second, as they both heard noise and footsteps.

They both broke out of their trance alarmed by the noise. The girl's frightened expression returned.

"Who is this?"

"Its probably the coppers, they followed me here."

"Police is chasing you? Who are you?"

"Not the time. We need a way out."

"There's no way out; trust me I've looked."

Booker noticed a big steel door at the far end of the library and remembered about something. He pulled out the key with symbols on it.

"Well, How about this?"

Elizabeth was still worriedly looking all over the place, looking for a solution before noticing the key in Booker's hand.

"Give me that!" She snatched it and ran for the steel door. As soon as she inserted the key and pulled itopen, an alarm went off in the whole tower.

Booker swiftly followed the petite girl who slipped through the opened doors.

As they ran down the corridor, they heard a heavy thump of metal against metal and a long mournful screech. Girl's face turned white.

"Oh no, he's here!"

"Who is here?"

"You don't want to know, hurry!"

As they ran, suddenly the metal sheets of the tower were torn by big claws, shredding the outer cover and exposing the corridor to sunlight. The shaking and rumbling sent bits of the tower falling and threatened to crush them if they weren't fast enough. From far below shouts of men still could be heard, slowly growing closer. Booker never imagined that the job would involve literal monsters.

"What the hell is that thing?"

They got to the elevator, despite the falling metal that almost destroyed the walkway that they were on, throwing them left and right. The shaking and screeching grew more and more aggressive.

"Call the elevator!"

"What?"

"Press the damn button!"Booker had no solid plan with a monster and a police on his back, but they had to get out somehow. He couldn't help it though once the girl started looking around the observation room, seeing her bedroom behind a glass. He could see her whole life fall apart in front of her, just as the tower was falling apart around them. But he had a job to do.

"What is all this? They were watching me this whole time... Why did they put me in here? Who am I? What am I?!"

"You're the girl who's getting out of this tower."

As the elevator was about to arrive, elevator doors were burst open by a giant leather bound hand, pushing its metal claws towards them, sending Elizabeth on the floor, shouting her lungs out, while Booker pressed himself against the wall, as far away from the clawed appendage as he could. Giant head tried squeezing into the opening, its red-glowing eye blinking hard at Booker.

The lift arrived however, and with a lot of screeching and pushing, it sent the beast downwards as the cable snapped and sent the elevator cabin hurtling down on its head.

The passage to service staircase beyond the elevator was open. Elizabeth did not hesitate to jump ahead first, getting up from the floor as fast as she could. The girl still relied on the man to guide her however, waiting for him to join her at the stairs.

"We have to keep moving, he's tearing the building apart."

"Be careful Elizabeth!"

"How do you know my name?

"Not now!"

The elevator crash and pained screeching could be heard down below and the shouts grew more and more as the lawmen followed them on the service stairs.

"There's a door up here!" The girl was already at the top, trying to turn the wheel on the sealed door.

"Outta the way, let me try". Booker gripped the metal hard and turned the wheel to open the door. Elizabeth slipped past him to the outside.

"Which way?

"Up!"

They ran to the top, following the narrow walkway that wrapped around the body of the statue.

There was no way for them to go further however, as the walkway ended at the top of the monument, at the iris of a large entrance that connected the cage and the library with the outside. Elizabeth looked around worriedly for a solution, but to no avail. The tower rumbled and shook, knocking them off their feet before another hard tremor threw them off the tower completely.

Their shouts filled each other's ears as they were sent hurtling down through the sky. From somewhere in the distance Booker could hear pot shots taken from the tower, but that was quickly drowned in the noise of the fall. The coppers couldn't follow him anymore, he thought with brief satisfaction. Elizabeth flailed around in the air before grabbing onto Booker's hand, as he revved up the skyhook and held it out in hope of making a contact with the skyline directly below them. In the split second of that flight, he doubted that this was humanely possible, but the Skyhook promised to deliver.

And it delivered, as it made contact with the rail and sent them hurtling down the line. The speed took Booker's breath away while the impact nearly yanked his arm away, but he held tight to the hook, while Elizabeth clung to his other arm with all strength she had, her eyes shut tight. But the monster did not relent as it circled around them, crashing through the crates and balloons of the skyline, threatening to knock the pair off.

They zipped around the skyline as it twisted and turned in the air between the statue and one of Columbia's main bridges, with the skyline held in the air by balloons and attached to bridge supports. As they swung around the bridge, the monster dived at them yet again, its claws damaging the bridge and cutting the skyline ahead of them. There was nothing they could do, only shock and terror of the ride and its inevitable end. As they came off it, launched by their momentum, Elizabeth's grasp slipped, separating her from him and she disappeared from his sight, her cry filling his ears. They sailed through the air like stones loosed from a slingshot, the momentum of the skyline ride wearing off and abandoning them to a cloud of falling debris.

Booker suddenly hit water, liquid rushing into his eyes and lungs. Did he hit the ocean yet? Did he fall off Columbia already? It felt too quick, but he knew of life-threatening experiences when time slowed down or sped up. This train of thought was derailed as he saw the monster dive right after him, its hand outstretched in pursuit. But it stopped, clutching its chest and head in pain, as black liquid started seeping from its seams. It tried to dive after Booker again, but as it got close to him with its big, glowing eye, Booker saw the glass of the visor crack. The monster came up again, reeling in pain and abandoning the man to the watery abyss.

But he was far from safe. Booker felt burning in his lungs, his throat locking up as it tried to desperately draw air. So preoccupied was he with his pursuer that only now did he react, trying to swim up, but it was too late, he was too deep. He only struggled for a brief moment before darkness enveloped his vision.

* * *

**Development notes:** As stated, this section features only minor alterations. I wanted to change around few things, but after few tries it became apparent that I won't do much better here than what the game already did, as far as the retold plot is concerned. The development notes on the tower and Elizabeth at this stage explored some concepts but the design for tower interior and its purpose were established early on with no difference between the rewrite and the original ideas.I added the soldier chase and delayed Songbird a bit, to allow for insertion of Songbird plot development later on, in line with the idea when he was much more integral to relationship with Elizabeth and was an actual threat to the player. There are also few changes that I will leave up to you to figure out and tell me how are they related to the original plot!


	6. Chapter 6 - Beyond the Cage

Here we go, another part of the adventure! This chapter was as much an indulgence for me as anything, adding and changing things around. Besides, I suspect quite few of you looked forward to seeing those things changed. As usual, Look forward to the compaison nortes at the bottom!

DoctorWho41 - Read on and you will see! Where would be the tension and action if I gave away all plot points?

* * *

**Beyond the Cage**

His vision returned to him slowly, light seeping through his gradually opening eyelids and blinding him. His head was on verge of exploding and he had difficulty drawing in air, feeling his chest being pressed on rhythmically. He coughed, throwing up water and finally drew in a deep breath. It was then when the rough outlines in front of him grew sharper. The pressing on his chest stopped, and he was greeted by a pair of blue eyes and a relieved smile.

"Are you alright?"

"Where am I?" He asked with a pained voice.

"Back in the land of the living," the girl replied warmly.

His headache receded slowly, but it did not help that it felt like being hit with a brick after a night of heavy drinking. He knew that feeling, it wasn't unusual for him to hit a wall or fall over while stumbling drunkenly back to his office. He felt drained, but now with clear lungs he breathed easy. He needed a moment to collect himself, just let the headache recede...

The girl's concern was obvious as she took his hand in hers in an attempt to help him get up.

"Here, let me.."

"I'll be fine."

"You almost drowned, you need too.."

He yanked his hand away from her. "I said I'm fine, just... gimme a moment"

She didn't say anything but only frowned at the rejected help. That frown quickly disappeared however as the girl suddenly perked up. She turned to the side, intrigued by something.

"Do you hear that? Oh, its music."

Here was a chance to get some rest, he thought. He moved his hand in an encouraging gesture.

"Go on, I just... need a.."

Elizabeth got up from her knees, visibly excited. She couldn't contain herself, as she stammered out a reply before running off in the direction of the music. Booker now heard it too, a lively tune somewhere in the distance.

"O-ok, I.. I won't be long, Mister DeWitt."

He breathed out and relaxed, turning to the side, now that he could get some respite. He was gone in but a moment, dozing off on the sand.

He didn't know how much time passed before he opened his eyes again, but now the headache was all but gone and his bones didn't feel like they were made out of jelly anymore. The sky already had an orange tint to it, he must have been out for a while, he noted. The only irksome thing was the sand in his shoes and behind his collar, as well as still partially wet clothes that clung to his body.

He got up and looked around to realize that he was on a beach and that in fact he did indeed fell into the sea, except the beach and the water were suspended in the air, with city drifting in the sky. That sight was slowly becoming familiar to him.

Finally his senses and instinct returned to him, and the absence of his ward nearby reminded him of the job.

"Where is she?" He looked around carefully. The beach was full of people languishing in the sand, reading, talking and generally enjoying their time out. Nothing out of the ordinary, while the distant tune added to the leisurely atmosphere of the place.

He reached behind his collar, rubbing his neck to get out the sand and fixed his tie before marching ahead in search of the girl. He walked between the people, asking them about Elizabeth, but all he got in return were surprised stares, annoyance or smartass quips.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a girl.."

"Well, aren't we all? Ha ha ha... I beg your pardon? Who do you take me for...I haven't seen anyone sorry..."

He pushed ahead, walking through the beach pavilion, still looking around for her but also thinking about a way out. He snatched an unattended bottle of soda standing on a box in the corner. The easiest way out of the flying city was also the deadliest one, and he just had a taste of it. He needed a safer transport. The city was full of airships but would any of them take him to New York? He was told the city seceded, so he doubted he could get two tickets out. He had to do it the hard way again. At least he knew which airship would do the job.

_President Comstock's personal airship! Come see it at First Lady Aerodrome"_

He got to the other side of the beach; a gust of wind blew a beach umbrella in front of him. The music he heard earlier was louder now, as he saw people dancing on a pier.

"DANCING AT DUSK" read the sign right next to the stairs of the pier and Booker could see her dark hair amidst the other dancers. He approached, still observing the fun as the people stopped dancing in pairs and formed a half-circle around Elizabeth, who continued to spin and dance in the middle in tune to the music. For someone who was locked up their whole life, it was unsurprising that she was so happy, he mused to himself, like a bird allowed to stretch its wings for the first time. But Booker hated to delay things any more than he needed to; the job was crazy enough as it was without stretching it.

As he got closer, he called out to get her attention.

"Umm, hello? Miss? Hello? Could you... Would you stop..."

His words had no effect on her, still dancing and absorbed by the cheery tune of the music.

Be stepped forward to get her attention. "Miss? Miss! Elizabeth..."

She turned around to him, her face beaming with joy.

"Oh Hello! This is wonderful, come dance with me Mister DeWitt!" She put her hands forward.

"I don't dance." He replied gruffly. He wasn't going to make a fool out of himself in front of all those strangers, while stumbling around like a drunk. "Come on, lets go"

Elizabeth did not relent however, playful smile still on her face.

"Why? What could be better than this?" She spun around again and took a step forward to DeWitt, taking his hands in hers.

The girl seemed insistent and the job notes were quite clear on doing everything she wants, as long as it kept her compliant. That's better than having to drag her behind him kicking and screaming all the way to New York, he thought. She probably didn't have the faintest idea why he rescued her either, and he was in no rush to tell her. He decided to humor her for now. She stared at him expectantly when he finally replied.

"Alright, have it your way, but not for long." Elizabeth's eyes brightened and her smile got wider. She pulled him into the middle of the circle, while people cheered them on and continued their clapping to the tune.

"Come on Mister DeWitt, show me how well you dance!"

He felt uneasy and stiff, worried that he would stumble, as if his legs were giant wooden pegs, but Elizabeth more than made up for it with her energy and grip on DeWitt's hands. They were spinning in the middle together, their hands clasped, her voice full of laughter. Booker couldn't recall a time when he danced or when he saw a girl as happy as her. Maybe there was a time when he could share in those things with another person, her warm hands reminding him of it.

Then the circle broke apart and people got into pairs, with Elizabeth getting closer to Booker. She clearly expected them to carry on, and waited for Booker to wrap his arm around her waist.

"Elizabeth, I think that's enough." They had to get going, and he was in no mood for that kind of dance.

"Oh please Mister DeWitt, just one more! You aren't scared of dancing with me, are you?" She tried to tease him about it, but a solution appeared. He recalled the postcard and the paintings in the tower.

"Well, don't you want to go to Paris?" The question took the girl aback, her face a mixture of confusion and surprise. She took a step back.

"Paris? I don't understand, how can we get there?"

Booker pointed at the airship that was just passing by the Battleship Bay. "Well, that's where this airship is going, but if you want to stay and dance.."

"No, let's go! Come on, let's go right now!" She broke away from him and started running down the pier.

"I'm out... It's hard to believe but it's true, Isn't it?"

The girl could not contain herself. She was always ahead of him, looking at things and people, her amazement not ceasing for a second. She drew in her breath, tasting the air.

"Hmmm, can you smell that? I've never smelt anything like that before, have you?"

"Beaches I know don't smell like that." To Booker the artificial nature of the place was apparent, but to her, it was as real as anything.

They got to the other side of the beach and got through turnstiles into an empty gift shop. No patrons, no attendants, just scattered goods. However, a dozen of suited, clean-shaven faces were visible, all staring into distance with a statesmanlike expression.

"Mister Dewitt, Comstock." Elizabeth drew his attention to one of the posters plastered to a sign at the entry to the shop. "I've read about him. They say he will restore America and bring liberty to the world."

Booker knew that type. "Give a man a little power, and he falls in all kinds of love with himself."

"He doesn't look too friendly." Elizabeth noted.

Booker did not hesitate to go behind the counter of the shop and started searching through the shelves and boxes for something useful. He still had no gun and his pockets felt a little light. The girl followed him, observing him and wandering the shop herself, but finding little of interest.

"Huh, that fall into the water did you no favours." She observed, while looking at Booker's face, dotted with small lacerations. He had to admit, he had few minor aches and winced from time to time, but he wasn't going to whine about it to her.

"I'll keep an eye out on something that might ease your pain." A bottle of good liquor would do the trick, he thought to himself in reply.

They left the shop with few dollars more and followed the stairs up to the boardwalk. Elizabeth did not hold back and ran among the stalls set up on the boardwalk, taking in the sight of the souvenirs and trinkets. Booker followed her slowly, observing the people and making sure they weren't followed. The place was crowded and no doubt they still had his scent, even though he shook them off at the tower. His instincts did not lie to him on this occasion either, as he saw the most unlikely couple.

A man and a woman, both in matching cream attire sat on a bench, small distance away from him. While they threw few glances around, they otherwise seemed preoccupied with their lecture of a book and a newspaper. Nothing out of ordinary, except Booker knew them, as he saw the man back in his office, and then on the boat, same with her. He rushed to them, but the crowd on the boardwalk was immense, and it took some time to squeeze past, only to see an empty bench.

"Mister DeWitt, Mister DeWitt! Over here!" Elizabeth called out to him, standing at one of the stalls. It was full of jewelery, trinkets and other sort, with a kind-looking gentleman attending to it.

She turned to him as he approached, holding two boxes in her hands. "Look at these, they're amazing! Which one do you like more? This one or this?" She showed him two brooches.

"The bird is beautiful, and the cage is sombre, but there is something really special about it."

Booker sighed. This wasn't his thing, but he feigned interest to keep her amiable. The money he was going to get was worth the bother now.

"This one", he pointed at the bird.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She did not hesitate to take it out of the box and pin it to her choker. "I love it!" She showed it off to Booker, smiling and batting her eyelids at him.

The merchant smiled. "Such a pretty young miss, and the brooch is just ideal for her." He looked at Mister Dewitt. "She is lucky, being spoiled like that by you." Booker couldn't help rolling his eyes, before digging into the pocket of his waistcoat for payment.

They set on continuing their walk, but sudden gasps and pointing at the sky interrupted them. Appearing from the clouds on the orange-blue sky, the Monument of Columbia devastated, smoke rising up and the flag that was in her hands now limply hanging from the remaining one.

Panic and shock quickly set in among the people.

"Those Vox bastards... Who would do such a thing?... Comstock will hunt them down and make them pay..."

Elizabeth gasped, sharing in the shock of the view. "My god.. look."

"Are you alright?"

"That was my home."

"Booker grew uneasy, looking at the hallmark of his job. "We should get out of here."

"Let's go." She echoed him.

They turned towards the arcade, and passed the turnstiles before climbing up the stairs to a hall that held rows upon rows of games, automatons and attendants with fizzy drinks, peanuts, hot dogs and other snacks.

The earlier gloom quickly dispelled from Elizabeth's face as she ran along the rows of games, taking in the sight and observing people. That girl is insatiable, Booker thought. She ran from one place to another, looking over people's shoulders and bombarded Booker with information about everything she saw.

"Hey Mister DeWitt! Flawless Flintlock! It's the newest one in the series. I read it's been delayed..."

He only nodded and moved along, trying to keep an eye out. It was far too quiet for him, in light of what just occurred. It wouldn't be long before they started looking for them, although he hoped that the fall would pause them for long enough.

"Hey, why are these bathrooms for 'whites only'?" Elizabeth asked when she saw the writing on the doors as they passed by.

"It just is." he replied flatly.

"Seems like an unnecessary complication."

Complication it was, but the reasons for it were better left unexplained. She didn't have to know, he reasoned.

Surprisingly, Booker felt a small bit of relief when his suspicions were confirmed. They looked like those guys at the main street - seemingly part of the crowd, oblivious, throwing fleeting looks but otherwise preoccupied with the games. But Booker saw them glancing at them, their rough faces out of place with the crowd. He knew they were after them. He could feel it.

"Elizabeth, we should move."

"Why, is something wrong?" She was puzzled at the sudden change of tone.

"No, but the airship won't be waiting for us forever."

"Oh right. Let's go then."

They walked towards the exit, climbing up the stairs. They were still looking at them, but they didn't follow yet. Booker noted a service door in the corridor, just before they took them up to the ticket hall. He gave the handle a tug, hoping to disappear off their sight through a back door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Damn, it's locked."

Then, Elizabeth approached the door. "Here, let me." She took out a pin out of her hair and put it in the lock, fiddling with it.

"What are you doing?"

"You're a roughish type, what does it look like?"

In but a moment, he heard a click of the lock and the door opened.

"Done." she whispered.

And here he thought she was nothing but a delicate, innocent girl. "Where did you learn to pick locks?"

"Trapped in a tower with nothing but books and spare time?" She chuckled. "You would be surprised at what I can do."

The job just got that little bit easier, now that his ward showed herself to be useful.

They walked into the service area, looking around for an exit. The place looked cluttered and fairly ordinary, not until Booker saw Elizabeth carrying a biggish vial with a yellow liquid in it.

"What is this?"

"This? It's a nostrum. I read that those special infusions improve your body and can help in various situations. I thought you might use it after your fall into the water."

Normally he wouldn't put much faith in quack medicine, but the girl wasn't stupid and he already experienced what Vigor is first-hand. He took the vial from her and uncorked it, before drinking it all in one swig. It tasted like a particularly bad cough syrup, smell of ether and bromine making him dizzy for a brief moment.

It reinvigorated him, as he felt the minor aches go and his head cleared up completely. His skin felt that much tougher too.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome Mister DeWitt." The girl gave him a smile.

They moved through the service area quickly, up the stairs and arriving at the back door to the ticket hall. The strangers were nowhere to be seen, they were safe for now.

"Mister Dewitt, I found some money lying around. I hope it will help in us getting the tickets." Elizabeth tossed a coin to Booker. He was starting to like her; she obviously was more help that he would expect from a sheltered girl.

Booker bought two tickets for passage to the airship (while First Lady was merely doing passes around Columbia and wasn't going to any city below, he had a different idea about the ship), while Elizabeth pranced around as usual, approaching people and looking at things. If she'd know better, she would keep to herself, but she wasn't going to be his problem for long. Besides, couldn't stop her from enjoying her freedom.

"Hey mister, you're going to get mustard all over your nice suit!" She commented as she saw a man eating a hot dog, about to coat his clothes in the yellow condiment.

"Elizabeth, let's go." Booker called out to her and the girl followed.

They walked towards the gondola station when they saw men standing around the exit. All five of them, ill-fitting clothes and thuggish faces which Booker saw back at the arcade. He gripped at the skyhook, while grabbing Elizabeth by her arm and bringing her close to him.

"Hey what are you..."

"Shh, just stay close and hide when I tell you to."

They moved towards the gondola slowly, passing by the first two men, when a third one from the other side grabbed Elizabeth by her arm and yanked her sharply towards him, while Booker received a hard punch in the back of his head.

Booker stumbled forward but recovered quickly, turning around and returning the favour by jamming the skyhook into man's throat and turning it on, twisting his neck with a nasty sound.

He turned around to look for Elizabeth, but she was already struggling to get free, having kicked the brute in the groin and pushing him away with an open palm.

"Get away from me!" Elizabeth shouted as she finally got out of man's grasp and ran for the gondola.

"Elizabeth, wait!" But there was no time to get her, as another assailant pulled out a knife and swung it at Booker. He only realized in the last moment and covered himself with his hand, but it was too late to stop it and the knife went through Booker's palm.

The pain was immense, but the rage that now fueled him was enough to push the man away, take out the knife and thrust it into his gut. He then spun around to face others and almost instinctively threw his right hand forward at the three remaining men who were lifted in the air with the power of the vigor.

One of them dropped a pistol as he was lifted in the air. Booker walked over and picked it up, checking the chamber for bullets, before sticking the barrel to the man's head and pulling the trigger.

He fell on the ground with a thud, just as the other two when the vigor wore off. They were shaking as he marched towards them, his gaze cold, face emotionless. He quickly raised the pistol at them and put a bullet in each without flinching before holstering it. He went for their pockets as quickly as their breath went out, picking up spare ammunition and more cash.

As his nerves eased, he realized Elizabeth ran away. The girl got scared easily and that only complicated things.

He ran towards the gondola station, and he saw her there, looking around and trying to make her way out. "Elizabeth, just stay where you are!"

"Get away from me!"

He ran after her as she got into the gondola cabin. When he walked in she was trying to push the lever to activate it. But the petite girl couldn't budge the lever, struggling pointlessly.

He approached slowly but upon seeing him, she jumped away, pressing herself into the corner of the cabin. Booker activated the gondola effortlessly.

"You killed those people. I can't believe you did that... they're all dead." She was shocked, breathing heavily. She turned around to face Booker with an angry face. "You killed those people!"

"Elizabeth, I-" But she didn't let him finish, shoving him away. "You're a monster!" She turned away from him, resting her hand on her chest, trying to calm her erratic breathing. This was her first proper contact with reality. He didn't want to make it any harder on her, but she left her cage now, she had to face it.

"What do you think was going to happen, hm?" He spoke softly, but with a tone of an experienced man.

"What?"

"Do you understand the expense people went through to keep you locked up in that tower? You think people like that will just let you walk away? You are an investment." She still stood with her back to him, trying to calm herself.

"What do they want from me?"

"I don't know, but you will not be safe until you are far away from here."

She finally eased and turned back to face Booker.

"This isn't the last of it, is it?"

"Probably, but you let me worry about that."

She noticed his wound and took his hand into hers carefully. "You're bleeding. Let me look at this."

He winced a bit as she held his hand delicately, before ripping off a small bit of cloth from her dress and wrapping it around his wounded hand. The gondola finally stopped.

"If we can find some medical supplies I will stitch the wound. I've read a thing or two about medicine, so I will try to keep you supplied with remedies." It seemed like she finally accepted the gravity of the situation and adjusted herself to it.

"And if it gets worse, I'll try to…"

"It won' get worse." Booker was resolute. "They won't get a drop on me again, and you will get out of here safely."

The two pools of blue stared at him, her lips curving into a grateful smile. She wasn't alone outside of her cage.

* * *

**Development Notes:** Battleship Bay and the entire boardwalk sequence were supposed to be quite large sections, with emphasis on patriotic themes and indoctrination. Battleship Bay in its current state was a late addition to the game, but it is pretty much a perfect setpiece for Elizabeth and Booker interactions, hence why it stayed. I got little on actual post-tower sequence, and theme park section is quite prominent in art and game setup. Boardwalk proper will be built up along the original visions of it however. I've also reintroduced Nostrums that were replaced by Infusions and Gear. Unlike those two, Nostrums worked pretty much like gene tonics in the first Bioshock. There was no limit to how many could be equipped and all of them had unique effects. Here we have Shield Nostrum, that was replaced by an actual shield in game. The Nostrum presumably increased damage resistance instead of giving you shield, which was absent from all gameplay and development prior to rewrite and last minute changes.


	7. Chapter 7 - Carnival Games

Here we are folks, another chapter. I try to stay within schedule and post every few days, but it gets hard with chapters getting longer and me trying to deliver. That doesn't mean I intend to stop! Look out for editorial at the bottom. Don't forget to comment and review, I'm doing this for you as much for myself! Your views are what guides my writing.

* * *

**Carnival Games**

The Patriot's Park boardwalk was even busier than Battleship Bay, with happy couples and families strolling on the oak floorboard amidst thousands of lamps and lights that illuminated the Park with the deep blue of the nightfall above them. The place stretched out for a good mile, with everything from rides and shops to theatres and a casino.

The atmosphere of the place quickly dispelled the earlier gloom of the gondola cabin, as Elizabeth took in the sights with stars in her eyes, with Booker following in tow. He wasn't fond of carousels or games, itching for a good drink. But he did not dare to do it, not while they could be watched.

"Cotton candy, get your cotton candy!", advertised a jovial voice as they approached it. The mustachioed man who advertised the sweet treat wore a striped suit and a boater, holding a stick with attached pink fluff. "What's this?" Elizabeth was curious about the treat. "Here you go little miss, cotton candy, a perfect cure for a sweet tooth!"  
Elizabeth took the cone of cotton candy from the man and tasted it. Her eyes went wide.

"Mmm, this is amazing. How come I've never tasted it before?" She stuffed herself with the pink cloud as they continued their walk. Booker couldn't help but smile, her chirpy attitude totally disarming the weary agent. It was far too easy to forget where he was and what they were doing, with their leisurely stroll through the boardwalk.

"So Mr DeWitt, do you know why you were hired?" The brunette looked at Booker with interest, her curiosity now turned to her rescuer. Booker wasn't big on personal questions, that stuff could get you killed if said around the wrong person. He did feel like he owed the girl some answers however, before she was sold to solve his problem.

"I don't know. They probably want to meet you. No doubt for your lock picking lessons." He chuckled. He did wonder though, what could they want her for. He saw her do that thing in the tower, and they pretty much kept her locked up and prodded her for what she was able to do. Someone else must have known about her, want her for their own schemes. It sounded like a ridiculous plot of a fantasy book by now. It was more likely she was form a rich family or something along those lines, he reasoned with himself. No one offered that much money upfront, although considering the details of the job, he would ask for more if he knew what was at stake.

"How old are you Mr Dewitt?" She kept up her questions while nibbling at her cotton candy. The pink cloud wasn't getting any smaller, Booker noted oddly. Her eyes still observed him with unnerving interest.

"Just north of thirty. And it's Booker." He disliked the formality and how it made him older than he actually was. He was no mister, he definitely did not feel like one.

"Alright, B-Booker." The name rolled off her tongue.

"Why do you ask? Something on your mind?" Booker raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, it's nothing. You just seem like a really experienced man."

"I suppose I am." There was no hiding it, there was far more going on than few innocent questions would ever reveal. Or so he thought.

"Can I ask who you are?" Damn it, why was she so persistent in asking those things about in him?

"I'm an agent, with Pinkertons. Private investigator."

"Investigator? You mean like a detective?" She seemed amazed, enthralled by his every word.

"I guess you could call me a detective."

"Oh, so you are just like Sherlock Holmes then? Taking up cases, solving mysteries, helping people out..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice way of putting it." And it sounded much better what he was doing in reality. Worker strikes and labor union actions were far more common than the cases of a demonic hound.

They passed by several rides and carousels, their music and lights drawing the girl towards them, who in turn dragged in Booker with her big pleading eyes and piteous stare. Or at least she tried to, following the sure-footed agent who did not want to waste any more time in getting to the aerodrome. As they passed by the big cream-white and red shell that formed the entrance to the aptly named "Tunnel of Love", Elizabeth's eyes lit up. She seemed to know it would be pointless to try to drag Booker in there, so she instead came up with a bold question.

"So, Booker, is there a woman in your life?"

The query did surprise him somewhat, not expecting THAT sort of personal questions. He could scarcely comprehend what got into the girl's head. It was natural for her to be interested in him though, since he was the one who rescued her and probably was her first proper human contact in God knows how long. But the question was still forward enough to make Booker pause for a brief moment before answering

"Not at the moment, no. Never had time for it, I suppose." The petite brunette grinned as she heard it.

"You must be really busy then, solving cases, hunting down criminals, rescuing damsels, but you never actually get to know any of them."

It's not every day that I have to rescue a smartass damsel from a flying city, Booker thought to himself in reply. He knew quite few places in New York where one could buy a pair of warm legs for a night, that was not an issue for him, but nothing he wanted to talk about with her. Nonetheless the subject did start up his imagination. Elizabeth was young and unbelievably beautiful, with smooth perfect skin, deep blue eyes, soft red lips, and her figure would leave any woman jealous. And when she bent over to stare at something closely…

Booker shook his head hard, trying to dislodge those thoughts from his head. Steady on DeWitt, there's special level of hell for men who prey on innocents, let alone the fact that you were promised a swim in the Hudson if the job went sour. He was really itching for a stiff drink now, while trying to make innocent face as they walked along. Elizabeth only giggled as she saw the agent fiddle with his tie and blush ever so slightly.

The signs informed them that the way to the Aerodrome was just through the Patriot Park itself, it many carousels and rides enticing the girl. What seemed to impress her most was the Ferris wheel, turning slowly just at the edge of the boardwalk platform.

"Oh, a real Ferris wheel! I've always wanted to ride in one. Have you ever been on one Mr De-Booker?" Elizabeth inquired for the umpteenth time. This question was harmless though, so he could stand it easily.  
"I'm not much for games, but I bet they have one in Paris, wait until we get there."

As they marched through the Park, a large stage was set up on the boardwalk, with two dressed up men wearing oversized head masks, and dancing in tune to a patriotic theme. The stage was surrounded by a large crowd of children and their parents, with the younger audience visibly captivated, unlike the bored adults who dispassionately observed the display.

"Oh look, Duke & Dimwit." Elizabeth pointed at the pantomime. Booker only gave her a blank stare.

"Oh you know, 'Remember boys and girls, don't be a dimwit!' How can you not know that?" Booker only shrugged.

"It must be something particularly Columbian."

"I loved those stories when I was a kid. They are a bit… off putting though." She commented, as the two actors goofed around on the stage

"This whole place is bit off-putting if you ask me." Booker couldn't help noticing that the carousels, songs and souvenirs weren't exactly preaching friendship or happiness.

"Well, the park as a part of the boardwalk was built in 1903 to acquaint children with idea of national service." Elizabeth recited flawlessly. "Train up a child in a way he should go and when he grows old, he will not depart from it"

"Where did you get that from?" Booker cocked an eyebrow at the lecture he was receiving from the girl.

"From one of the books I threw at you."

They didn't get much further towards the Aerodrome, as they heard lot of commotion and shouting up ahead, panicked screams and people running in opposite direction. The pair slowly walked towards the source of the chaos, which revealed itself to be a police barricade at one of the Columbia Transit stations just next to the park, as well as the hotel building next to it.

Booker and Elizabeth hunkered down behind stacked up boxes and crates at the corner of one of the shops.

"What do we do now? How are we going to make our way to the airship?" Elizabeth whispered worriedly.

"We wait. There's no point in packing yourself into something you have little idea about." The irony of his own words was lost on him, caught up in the moment and looking pensively at the barricade. The fight was shaping up to be heavy, as he noticed several policemen in rather unusual heavily padded clothes and brandishing red bottles with them, another type of vigor no doubt.

What happened next stunned them both. From somewhere in the distance hooting and shouting could be heard, before sparks and grinding of skyhooks on the rail could be heard. A rain of garishly uniformed men dropped on the barricade from the Transit skyline, stomping on the policemen and engaging them in the fight, balls of fire and bolts of electricity being exchanged. From the hotel and the station more hooting and more gaudy uniforms launched themselves into the fray, quickly overwhelming police.

The hooting grew intense and the rebels scattered to all sides of the boardwalk, their faces bearing nothing but bad intent to all whom they would encounter.

"Come on, let's go" Booker finally got up and scurried along the wall of the shop, aiming to get past the barricade to the station, Elizabeth closely in tow behind him.

As they made their way to the station, Booker rummaged through the battlefield among charred and fried corpses. He noted that many of the garish soldiers had twisted features that were not a result of the fight. Crystals sticking out of their hands and side of the head, dislocated eyes and faces as if someone tried to blend them in a bowl. Elizabeth approached Booker, carrying a small coin purse and another Nostrum vial.

"I found some money and more hea- oh my god, what happened to these people?" Her eyes went wide, face petrified in a horrified stare

"Beats me, but whatever it is, I'd stay clear of them. It definitely doesn't look like pox to me, or anything for that matter" Booker stated dryly. He was however curious about the odd-looking rifle, with a short, perforated barrel and a magazine sticking out of the side.

"Rolston Reciprocating… whatever it is, it definitely beats the Broomhandle." He slung it over the shoulder and took the loot from Elizabeth's hands, who still looked intently at the fallen men, their mutated features both revolting and intriguing.

"Now what's this?" Booker finally wrested one of the red bottles from the hand of the padded policeman, the top shaped into a body of a female demon blowing a flame with her mouth. He unscrew the top and was about to drink the bottle down when he felt a small hand grab him by his wrist.

"Booker, are you sure these things are safe? I got a suspicion that some of these people didn't get sick by accident." She looked at him with her blue orbs, worry painted on her brow.

"Hey we already saw what these things can do, throwing flaming grenades would be mighty handy in a next scrap."

She let go of his hand, but her face still bore worry as he drained the vigor bottle. The taste of ether was mixed with the hottest sauce and liquor he could imagine, burning his innards worse than the worst of the rotgut he could find in New York. After a brief moment, the burning moved to his hands, flesh melting and falling off, revealing charred bones. He couldn't help but let out a terrified cry, staring at his incinerating hands before it all disappeared in but a moment.

"Are you alright Mr Dewitt?"

"Whoah, yeah, I'm fine. These things do have a kick, I tell you."

They made their way towards the Transit station, hoping that a gondola towards upper section of the Park and the Aerodrome would be available. They couldn't be more out of luck however, as the station was smashed up with wrecked gondola controls, devastated cables and the power generator that was out of charge.

"So much for our travel. Where to now?" Elizabeth looked around before finding a sign on the timetable board.  
_In case of suspension of gondola access to Aerodrome, please use secondary gondola at Hall of Heroes. _

"Well, ain't that convenient", commented Booker. But before they could do anything else, they heard footsteps. They quickly ran behind one of the benches that littered the station and hid. Two rebel soldiers entered station slowly, looking around and chatting leisurely.

"Well, we gave'em hell, didn't we?" Said one of the grunts.

"Yeah, we drove the bastards right out. I wonder what slate got lined up for us next"

"I hope we can hit a place that has more Shock Jockey. I'm getting the shakes and that Vox Populi bitch keeps hoarding vigors for herself. "

"Yeah, but ol' Slate wants us to be nice, otherwise we will never get rid of Comstock and his tin men he says…"

They roamed around the place in apparent ignorance of the pair hidden nearby. They would have to take them out, Booker reasoned, his hand burning with desire to toss a fireball at them to test out the Devil Kiss vigor. But a brief glance at Elizabeth, who looked at him with her big eyes, waiting for his experienced decision made him reconsider. The girl saw enough blood already he had no reason to bathe in gore any more than he did already. He pulled out his pistol and leaned out of his hiding, carefully lining up a shot at the grunts.

Two empty casings and two lifeless bodies hit the ground. "Quickly, let's go" he said, with both of them getting out of the station, scurrying along the walls and trying to stay out of sight. Another big group of soldiers was up ahead and Booker wondered whether it was possible to fight them off. He had vigors and a repeater, something that sounded like it was designed for such fights. The soldiers started to move, and there wasn't much time to think.

"Mr DeWitt, over here." Elizabeth whispered behind him, pointing with her lithe hand towards a locked service door. It looked like entrance to one of the rides, and she already fished out a pin out of her hair. They approached the locked door and after a brief moment Elizabeth got them in before they hurriedly shut the door as the soldiers meandered nearer.

They were in total darkness, the place lacking a single light or window. Booker snapped his fingers and a small ball of fire appeared in his palm, illuminating small circle around them. They were in a small service area, boxes, crates, tools and other lined up against the walls and on the shelves. The door to the entertainment part of the building was just ahead and Elizabeth opened that up with no problem either.

They were now in a tunnel illuminated with soft red light and track on which a cart could move. The tunnel was full of dioramas and painted amorous scenes on walls, where men and women engaged in reciting poetry, gifting flowers as well as scenes from tales like a knight climbing up a tower to get to a fair maiden, who stood on the balcony. And as Booker's luck would have it, they were in front of such mural.

"What is this place? Booker asked with a grimace on his face, but girl's amazed face and the atmosphere of the ride already gave him an answer that he did not wish to hear.

"We're in the 'Tunnel of Love'" Said Elizabeth dreamily. "Usually those rides are on a boat and the tunnels are dark, but sometimes, you get something like this." She pointed at the fairy tale scene. "Awfully familiar, don't you think?" she said with a cheeky grin on her face.

"Well, don't get used to it too much, we got a ride to catch." Booker moved forward across the tunnel, looking for a passage to the other side with nervous paces, while Elizabeth strolled behind him innocently.

At last, another back door, another lock picking and they were on the other side, having avoided a large section of the boardwalk, now currently under control of the renegade soldiers. The path to Hall of Heroes was now open.  
"Hall of Heroes is closed until further notice…" Elizabeth read off a sign that was posted at the entry to the park.  
"It means we won't have to wait in a queue." Booker quipped. The place looked torn and beat up; no doubt the closure was a recent thing. They got through the battered entry and into the lift that led to an upper part of the boardwalk connected with the Hall of Heroes proper.

The lift was relatively simple, one button to move it up and a big poster of Songbird on one of the sides, portraying a Vox supporter with a bomb, scurrying away from the mechanical monster.

_True patriot has nothing to fear from the Songbird!_

The lift stopped all of a sudden with a mechanical grid and the lights flickered.

"Ooh, what the hell?" Booker was growing impatient with constant stops and obstructions in his way.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing I can't fix."

Booker turned to the fuse box which he opened and yanked away the metal panel that covered it up. He looked for the busted fuse when he heard faint buzzing of an insect.

"Agh! Oh! It's a bee, I-I hate these things."

"Jeez, just kill it" Booker remarked as he changed the broken fuse.

"No, it will sting me!"

"Elizabeth.." Booker couldn't hide his irritation with girl's childish attitude. He finished with the fuses and turned the power back on.

"I have a better idea."

What he saw next beat anything he saw before. The petite woman held her hands forward in front of the poster, just like she did in the tower and was struggling to stretch them to the sides.

"What are you doing?" Booker was puzzled.

"I'm opening a tear." Elizabeth replied with stress in her voice, the exercise putting a strain on her.

A small slit appeared in the poster, the grainy, black and white light seeping through.

"What the hell?"  
Elizabeth finally stretched her arms fully and the tear opened up, stretching all over the side of the elevator cabin, opening up to a perfectly ordinary house window, with flowerbed on the parapet.

"Whoah, shit!" Everything he saw so far in Columbia and everything he saw in the tower was toppled instantly by a feat of pure magic, as far as he could comprehend. The bee that Elizabeth was so worried about disappeared through the open window.

"What is that?"

"It's a tear. I used to open them all the time in my tower." Elizabeth replied calmly, treating the tear as a normal fact of life.

Booker was clearly not satisfied with the answer. "B- what is a tear?"

"It's like a-a…a window. A window to another world. Most of the time they are dull as dishwasher; a different-colored towel or tea instead of coffee. But sometimes?" She crossed the threshold of the tear and walked up to the window. "Sometimes I see something amazing, and I pull it through." She picked a rose out of the flowerbed on the parapet. "There." She put the rose in her hair.

"Good God". Booker still couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, the tear shimmering with the grainy light ever so much. "I don't suppose you got an airship in there?" He asked half-jokingly.

"I don't think so. But- but there is…th-there is something.. I-" Elizabeth gasped, her eyes growing wide with shock. "Oh no!"

Behind the window, among the slowly floating clouds an outline of big wings and worrying orange light could be seen, as it flew closer and closer with a terrifying screech.

Booker backed away from the tear. "Close it!"  
Elizabeth now struggled with her arms stretched out, trying to pull the sides of the tear together. "I'm trying!" The screeching and the bird got closer as Elizabeth with pained effort finally managed to seal the opening in reality in a one swift motion.

The power in the lift returned and they began their ride up, with both of them leaning on the sides, trying to recover from the encounter.

After a brief moment the lift stopped and the doors opened, revealing to them the upper level of the park.

"I don't understand what I just saw back there, but it sure looks like a shortcut to getting us killed." By now, the sky was the limit in number of the things that were beyond Booker's comprehension since he arrived in Columbia.

"But I could help…" Elizabeth seemed insistent on proving her usefulness.

"I already told, you, I can handle whatever comes along. Trust me."

"Have it your way I suppose." The girl stared at him with disappointment, face scrunched up in an annoyed grimace. The rose in her hair added to her looks considerably even she made faces, Booker thought randomly, before shaking his head to regain composure.

They moved across the vandalized corridor and out to the open area of the upper boardwalk, signs pointing them to alternate gondola to Aerodrome through Hall of Heroes. The signs shared their space with ominous looking 'wanted' posters.

"Who is that?"

"Cornelius Slate. A war hero, back from the war with the Indians. Did stuff in Peking too, I heard."

"Huh, I wonder what did he do to get on Comstock's nerves."

The upper boardwalk wasn't as large as the main section, hosting fewer shops and a single hotel, "The Fellow Traveller". From here they could see the cables that hung between the boardwalk and the Aerodrome, suspended in the distance against the Parisian blue of the night sky. They were so close, yet so far.

This place wasn't free from police barricades either, but those were manned by renegade soldiers by now who seemed visibly bored with their guard duty, sitting around and playing cards, talking or drinking. Booker hoped he could sneak past them too and he quietly motioned to Elizabeth to follow him. They moved slowly behind the boxes and emptied carts that littered the area, crouching and making sure they stayed out of sight. They almost made it to the other side, if not for a soldier that too was behind the stacks of crates, finishing relieving himself, zipping his pants when he saw Booker and Elizabeth, who froze at his sight, like animals caught in the headlights.

"Who are you, skulking around like that? Boys ! We got co.." The trooper did not get to finish, as his malformed face was covered in red, bullet from Booker's pistol going straight through his skull.  
Elizabeth gasped in shock, but it was too late, as they heard the others get up and cock their guns, shouting at them to come out.

"Elizabeth, stay put and don't get out of hiding." He gave her a terse command, before slinging the machine gun from his arm and jumping from behind the cover, peppering the soldiers with fire.

First two men fell, while the rest scattered behind cover. Booker ran for the next set of barricades when a blue bolt of lightning flashed in front of him. "Whoah, damnit!" fighting was getting harder, now that his enemies seemed to be on par with him in terms of their powers and he was alone. He got to another cover and tossed a fireball at a barricade in front of his, the fire exploding and burning the men hiding behind it. As they ran from the cover, flapping their arms around as they burned, Booker took them out. There weren't many men left and he ran ahead to close the distance between himself and the last barricade.

"Booker, behind you!" He barely heard the young woman, dodging the gunfire from the barricade ahead of him, to turn around and see a crate flying towards him, tossed by a bullish grunt, who managed to avoid Booker's earlier sweep. It was too late to get out of the way and the box connected with Booker's face, bringing him down to the ground, face lacerated.

But that did not happen, as the crate floated in the air in front of Booker, before flying back at the soldier, knocking him out. DeWitt stood there dumbfounded for a moment, and so did the remaining troopers behind the stack of barrels. Booker turned around to see Elizabeth standing up with her arms stretched forward, breathing hard though her nose. He didn't waste time and quickly shot a Bucking Bronco at the still dazzled soldiers, forcing them out of the cover and dispatching them quickly with the repeater.

Elizabeth approached him slowly as he stood there, looking around and trying to gather himself. It seemed like the job was throwing a new thing at him every five minutes. He turned to her and smiled weakly, seeing her worried expression.  
"On a second thought, I think we can use those tears of yours next time we're in a scrap. I didn't know you could do more though."

"Yeah, I have couple of other tricks that I can do, but manipulating things is much harder than opening tears. I get exhausted pretty quickly when doing it. Besides, there must be a tear for me to use, I can't just pull them out of thin air."

Booker noted that in his memory; even though he did not know what a tear would look like. He checked the magazine of his repeater before tossing it away and picking up new one from one of the fallen troopers. "It would help too if you could scrounge up something for me to use when we're in a pinch next time."

Elizabeth gave him a resolute look."It will take some time, but I'll see what I can find." She looked up to the task and was eager to help, he saw. As far as these kinds of jobs went, this was a first one where the person escorted proved themselves useful and he had someone watching his back. He couldn't recall the last time he worked with someone but it felt good.

Whoah, work _with_ someone? Easy there DeWitt, the girl could be a liability as much as she is help. Don't get too comfortable with her, one way or another. Soon enough it will be over, or so his mind kept repeating to him. He wasn't doing it for her, he was doing it for himself.  
Nonetheless, he did give her an acknowledging smile and nod as she responded to his query. Maybe she wouldn't be around for long, but he would enjoy the experience. He wasn't alone on this job.

They roamed the upper boardwalk for a little while, exploring the 'Fellow Traveller' and picking up more supplies, money and the odd nostrum, that Booker swallowed without hesitation, but squirming as he gulped it down. Despite being similar in its cough syrup flavour and texture, this one made him feel tender and bit pumped up, like a balloon. The feeling quickly moved into his muscles, pushing them ever so slightly against his clothes. Elizabeth must have noted it too, since she gave him an impressed look as he went through the effects of the infusion.

Booker was finishing emptying the cash register of the hotel as he saw Elizabeth approaching from the back, carrying white doctor's bag. "Well Mr DeWitt, aren't we well-heeled?" she quipped as she saw Booker stuff coins into his jacket. Truth be told, all that silver was getting cumbersome, with coins weighing on his pockets and the waistcoat. Why weren't they using notes, like the rest of America?

"Mr DeWitt, can I see your hand? I found some supplies to saw up the wound." They sat at the bar counter and he gave her his injured hand. She carefully unravelled the blue cloth and looked at the wound. She took out a piece of clean cloth and soaked it in disinfectant before cleaning the wound, with Booker wincing ever so slightly.

"Mr DeWitt, do you usually get in a lot of fights?"

" I already told you, it's Booker." He replied tersely. "And I generally try to stay out of a fight, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't in few." She finished with the cleaning and took the earlier prepared needle and the thread.

"It will hurt a bit but if you hold still-"

"I'm fine Elizabeth, I'm not a little chil-ough"

"If you hold still, will be able to finish it faster." She concentrated on Booker's hand, but she continued her barrage of questions.

"Did you always want to become an investigator? You seem to have a knack for it."

She did not know the half of it. "It's not exactly a kind of job one chooses of their own volition. It sorta happened for me."

"Happened to you?" Her voice rang with a hint of scepticism. But she had to learn a lot about world outside.

"Yeah, I wasn't really good with books and it happened rather quick…" He recalled trying to make a living in New York, leaving the Army and doing the only thing he knew how to do. Pinks took him in, kicked him out and he was back in for the last job with them. But she couldn't now. He gave her a curt reply to end the matter, hoping she would pick up on it, forgetting that so far she sheltered girl was bit unaware of how people really worked.

"Done." She finished stitching the wound and moved to putting the wrapping back around it. "It looks like no major cartilage or bone was damaged." He took back his hand and moved it around. The girl did a flawless job.

"You seem to have a knack for being a medic, thanks."

The girl perked up. "You are welcome. I'm always behind you if you need me."

They finally reached the gondola to the Hall of Heroes, and activated it. Elizabeth stared through the window at the Aerodrome and the airship hanging in the distance amidst the night sky, moon illuminating the clouds around it with a silver light.

* * *

**Development notes:** Two key elements that are missing or were changed from the game here are the option to avoid difficult encounters, where player was able to sneak past certain things and find shortcuts and the second one is Elizabeth's array of powers. Elizabeth apart from tears had much more powers, which were to combine with Booker's vigors for big combos. However, use of powers was to drain Elizabeth and that then was meant to have an impact on how she developed alongside how she behaved towards Booker.  
Stylistically, I allowed myself to rename the boardwalk and describe it bit differently, basing myself on the art as well as the original designs of Columbia, which were meant to be much more expansive. Overall, it was a fun chapter to write.


	8. Chapter 8 - Heroes and Tin Men

Ladies and Gentlemen, next part of my story is here! I am dreadfully sorry for the large delay, but I've been running a bit thin on free time recently, not to mention trying to make this as good as possible. These chapters are getting longer and longer and I can't stop myself, but there is so much stuff I'm trying to cram in here! I will be working on my next chapter ASAP, meanwhile enjoy his and look out for the notes at the end as usual!

On a partially unrelated note - I might or might not do a little editing and rewriting in some chapters by the end of the story. Some things come up and some things are forgotten when I write them. One thing I can reveal right in this story though - Booker was not at Wounded Knee in my story and I will edit those bits out of earlier chapters. Look to notes at the bottom as to why.

** Shtoops** - I have my story pretty much plotted out, but as I said before, It would be no fun if I spilled the beans now. If you want to know, you gotta read it!

** Guest** - Thank you very much! I'm trying my best and I hope I can deliver. As Levine said, it's not hard to write a scene where you have two people being nice and awesome and having good time together, the meat of the story is to show them go through all the tough stuff together and grow from it. since this was his philosophy when writing the game, I try to stick to it in this story.

** A Fan** - Thanks. I will tell you a bit more than what I told others - I enjoy seeing people crack their heads over whether my story will have a romance in it. Rest assured, I will not give up that secret easily.

** Hydroplatypus** - Kudos for always reviewing each chapter. You are my "quality control" of sorts. I hope you will carry on reading my stuff!

* * *

**Heroes and Tin Men**

They were welcomed to a sight of a vandalized façade of the 'Hall of Whores', as the devastated and rearranged sign above the front entrance would have you read it.

Booker and Elizabeth walked over to the information map nearby to get their bearings. The place was quiet and the path to the airship gondola seemed straightforward. Or it would be if not for a glint of the sniper scope, reflecting off the lights that illuminated the entry square.

"Elizabeth, get down!"

They both got down and hid behind a balustrade, with a bullet whizzing just above his head. Elizabeth crouched at the pedestal of the angel statue, finding a rifle with a scope lying nearby without an owner.

"Booker, I got a weapon!" she picked up the rifle carefully and showed it to Booker, who crouched behind the balustrade.

He saw the gun in her hand and nodded appreciatively, before motioning with his hand to toss it over. While the weight of the weapon and its size made it slightly awkward, the girl nonetheless managed to swing the gun across to Booker, who dodged another shot as he leaned out of the cover to grab the rifle. It was his turn now, having seen the shooter stuck in his spot, sure of the higher ground and not taking any measures to protect himself. He was probably thinking that he was a better marksman, that he would pop Booker's head before he managed to take an aim at him. He didn't manage to think much more though, because Booker pulled the trigger already, taking down the sniper. The shots had the unfortunate side-effect of attracting more men, who spilled out of the building.

"Just sit tight and let me do it, ok?" He trusted Elizabeth to patch him up, but he couldn't risk her getting a stray bullet. He got out of his cover and took aim with the rifle again, and shot at the first soldier in the line, before his comrades replied with a volley of their own.

It was getting hotter, but vigors were growing on him, and a barrage of flaming balls held them back as he pulled the bolt of the rifle and took another shot. And another. It was almost like carnival game, the soldiers dropping one by one. He dropped the empty rifle and pulled out the repeater, moving towards the entrance where remaining soldiers hid behind the balustrades.

Elizabeth crawled behind the cover in tow behind him but never letting a hair out of the cover. This fight seemed easy to Booker, who ran up the stairs and pulled the trigger on the soldiers who tried to confront him. A shotgun blast from behind nearly took him by surprise, had he not ducked a second before, now returning the fire to the man behind him.

As Elizabeth got to her feet, Booker stood at the entrance to the Hall, checking the dead soldiers. He tossed the repeater to the side, going for the much more familiar shotgun. Lever action, big gauge, an obvious man stopper. Booker liked that, seeing how with each encounter the soldiers seemed less and less human, weird growths on their faces and mad look in their eyes.

"Are you alright? Do you need a banda-"

"I'm fine, this was nothing. Let's move to the airship. We don't want more attention heading our way."

Booker almost absent-mindedly went through the soldiers, looking for shells and coin while Elizabeth ran forward to the gondola platform, her hands tingling with anticipation as she waited for Booker to summon it. They were finally at their goal.

Or would be, had the gondola controls actually worked. Booker was faced with the same problem yet again. He pulled the gondola lever but was only met with dead silence.

"Son of a…"

"What's wrong Mr DeWitt?" There was no hiding that they had a problem with their plan. Elizabeth looked at the level and then at booker inquisitively.

"The gondola doesn't work. I don't know if it's the generator or..."

"So, you want to get on board of Comstock's ship then?"

Both Booker and Elizabeth were surprised, the sudden announcement coming from loudspeakers having put them both at the alert yet again.

"Who are you? Why are you blocking the Aerodrome? We have the tickets!" Elizabeth went from surprised to impatient in an instant, her face scrunched in an expression belaying annoyance.

"I'm sorry young miss, but my cause is of greater importance than your whim."

The PA that usually played patriotic music like the rest of the boardwalk now carried the voice of a rough, older man, commanding and threatening almost challenging in its tone. Booker did not know the person behind that voice, but he could easily imagine who it was and why they were here.

"We got no quarrel with you or your cause, Slate. Let us go."

"And who are you? Booker DeWitt, Pinkertons' special agent. Did Comstock send you here? Or was it Washington? Another tin man, disposable and to be tossed away at the end.

The angle of the story got uncomfortable for Booker; Slate seemed to know way more than it appeared. If he was meant to do his job in secret and simply sneak Elizabeth out, how was it possible that the crazy old veteran had more information about those things than he himself did? Something wasn't right. He would have to play this game, as long as it kept the girl in the dark about the details of the job.

"Hey, you don't know me pal. I got no quarrel with you so how about letting us go? I'm not working for anyone who betrayed you."

"If you seek passage from me, you will have to prove, that you are worthy. Grant my men a good death, face me and show that you are no tin man, and I will let you take your little bird away from here."

The PA went out after a short burst of static, leaving them both with a decision. Booker still contemplated whether to smash the console, but Slate promised to let them leave if they conceded to his demand

"Elizabeth, unless you know how to operate this machinery, I think we will have to do what Slate says for a while." It was another damn detour and more blood on the way. But DeWitt had no other solution for it. He only fixed his tie and reloaded the shotgun, while Elizabeth gave the summoning controls a cursory glance.

"It won't work without operation card."

"Slate has the card. That's the game with him – we go in, he gets me into a fight and taunts me with it to keep us going where he wants." He finished reloading the shotgun and pulled the lever.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Is that what usually happens in situations like that? People ask you to play games with them before they let you go?"

"Not usually, but when they are crazy old men with power, they tend to do that."

Booker started walking towards the entry of the Hall, while Elizabeth followed him slowly, pondering on the situation. Life outside harbored plenty of incidents like that and they seemed to be almost a daily thing for Booker DeWitt, as Elizabeth learned.

In the darkness of the entry hall they found a mechanical simulacrum of George Washington on a pedestal, two flags sticking out of his back. He was similar to the one they have seen in the Arcade at the beach, no doubt part of the tourist attractions for the visitors. As Elizabeth approached slowly to look at the man who lay at the feet of the pedestal of the mechanical exposition, she accidentally triggered he lever with her elbow, bringing the construct to life. She jumped away scared as the animatronic toy begun moving its limbs stiffly and playing its recording.

_Too rare is a man who takes a stand, for God and sweetest Fatherland! But here's the place where we revere the heroes of our city dear!_

Booker only gave the corpse a fleeting look before nodding with his head to Elizabeth, motioning to move further in. They moved quietly, observing the devastated ticketing booth, torn lamp and scattered trash along with bodies of attendants, all telling signs of the presence of Slate's men.

They entered another large chamber with a big statue in the middle and lesser ones along the walls, heroes of America and Columbia alike. All of them were devastated, splattered with red paint or damaged. A single spotlight illuminated the plaque at the foot of the central figure. Elizabeth read it out.

"Lady Columbia, Liberty's Mistress, Salvation of the World."

Another spotlight came to life and shone directly at them.

"HE CALLS HER A LADY AND TREATS HER LIKE HIS WHORE!" Slate's booming voice came from above. "Do you see what Comstock and his tin men are doing? They rewrite the history as they see fit! Where are my deeds? Where is my blood? Did I not spill it in Peking? Did my men not fall to the heathen tomahawks at Wounded Knee?

"We got no squabble with you, Slate! Just give us what we need." Booker was hoping to speak sensibly with Slate, but reasoning with the old soldier was a fool's errand.

The spotlights were directed at Booker.

"Ah, Booker DeWitt, Pinkerton National, private investigator, detective, bodyguard and a strike-breaker, in other words a paid man. But you are no ordinary tin man; you are a tin man of the highest caliber! One hired by powers that be."

"I don't know what your point is, but I'm just doing my job. I am not looking for a fight."

This already looked nasty, with a crazy veteran that harboured grudges and would leash out on them if it stroke his fancy.  
Slate rained his accusations, his voice not letting up for a moment.

"My hand was forced when America betrayed her sons and when Comstock stole my past! Now he and hit tin men seek to erase us completely! I won't let my men die at his hand. Are you a hero or a tin man, DeWitt? Meet America's firstborn on the field of battle and prove that you are a hero!"

The spotlights went out and the side doors opened, spilling out Slate's men. Elizabeth ducked, sticking to the statue while Booker tried tossing Devil's Kiss to his side. His hand came empty.

"Drat, I must have run out-" he ducked in time as the shooting begun. He brought his shotgun forward and returned fire while running for cover at the pedestal of the statue. The soldiers followed, their disfigured faces looking even worse in the half-shadows of the room. Booker tossed up a group of them with a Bucking Bronco and took them all down with a well-placed shot, while dodging rifle butt of another that ran towards him. Skyhook to the throat, swift jerk of the arm and the man was gone. Booker dispatched the group with ease, and begun reloading the shotgun.

Spotlight returned and with it, Slate's raspy voice. "This is a mark of a true warrior! Efficient, brutal and quick. You are killer, DeWitt, you like it or not!"

"Just give us the card and let us go. This is pointless."

"If you want the card DeWitt, you will give my men a soldier's death. They wait for you in Wounded Knee and Peking."

Booker finished with his weapon and Elizabeth handed him a vigor bottle from one of the deformed soldiers. She looked concerned.

"I'll try to keep you stocked with ammunition and bandages but right materials aren't always at hand."

He took the bottle and drank it. Devil's Kiss burned his throat but this time there was no scorched flesh and bones. His body seemed at ease with vigors now. They moved forward through next set of doors to the round room with a circular monument, with a timeline of Columbia and events related to it wrapped around.

As usual, Elizabeth was already standing by it, looking at the timeline intently. The entryway led to three expositions, with the central one locked away.

They moved onwards to the first one. The exhibit was full of fake snow, rocks and Asian architecture. As they moved through it, cardboard cut-outs of caricature Chinese popped out from behind the rocks, their teeth bare in wicked grin and poised to jump with long claws and swords.

"What is this?"

"It's the Boxer Rebellion."

"What happened there?"

"In Peking? It was my hand that put the city to the torch." Slate chimed in through the PA. "Of course, that's not how Comstock tells it…"

As they continued their walk through the exhibit, a cut-out suddenly came up from above. Elizabeth gasped in surprise, but Booker only carried on, stone-faced. This job was stretching to an unpleasant length and he was taking problematic detours. Whoever employed him probably expected delays, since there was no specified deadline given, save for 'before New Year, and we will know when you are back on the ground.' He wondered if perhaps Elizabeth knew more than he did, since Slate knew about him from the start.

The 'employees only' area came into the corner of his vision and he went straight for it. Maybe there was a way around to get straight to Slate. But that would be too easy. The room was empty save for spare and broken props and a conspicuously placed Nostrum bottle. Booker took it down just as the rest, enjoying the after effect, warming his body and clearing his head. Elizabeth however, looked concerned as he drunk the bottle.

"You know, those soldiers don't look sick because they caught a bad cold. I think it's something to do with those vigors and other things."

"Well, it's too late now to think about it. If I start growing a second head, you'll tell me, ok?" Booker tried to get off the subject with a joke, but Elizabeth did not light up. She lost her rose, must have fallen out in a scuffle or something, Booker noted oddly. Why was he even thinking about it?

They continued their walk through the exhibit, which ended in a large room with a statue of a man on the ground and surrounded by the caricature Chinese. He was fending them off with a pistol and was draped in American flag. The fake snow intensified, while a spotlight illuminated a mural above the statue, the floating city firing on the hordes below.

"Elizabeth's face lit up with understanding, as she recalled something. "Oh, I read about this… Columbian troops went into Peking to liberate American hostages-"

"And United States declared us TRAITORS! America cast us out! Boxers took my eye and thirty of my friends! Did they ever recognize our sacrifice?" Slate was booming as his men started dropping from above and from hidden doors all around the room.

Booker was growing positively annoyed with it, gritting his teeth and readying a ball of fire which he promptly tossed into the crowd of running soldiers. What he did not expect was to see a ball of fire returned to him, before it blew up under his feet, bathing him in a small blaze.

He let out a pained scream as his suit caught fire, but sudden gust of wind put out all flames and cooled him down. He turned around to see what could possibly do that. And surely enough, the brunette girl was standing up, her hands forward and she was breathing hard through her nose. She gave Booker a reassuring smile.

But there was no time for more, as shots tore through the decorations and showered them both in pits of plaster and cardboard. Booker returned the fire with his shotgun and threw Bronco in response as he came out for behind cover.

The fight was over quickly and Booker quickly went over the fallen soldiers for ammo and money. This became a routine, to scavenge after each fire fight. This never happened to him before, because previous assignments were not regular wars over a single girl. But this was no Iliad to DeWitt, but a scrap with a whole town that grew longer and bigger with each passing hour.

"You see young miss? That's how we fought for America and her children, only to be cast out." Slate's voice returned.

"I don't want to do this Slate, just give me what I need."

"Only after you give me what I want. Meet me among the ghost dancers."

Elizabeth was puzzled. "Ghost dancers?"

"He probably means the other display. Let's head there."

"Hey, you really saved my skin back there." This time it was Booker who initiated the conversation, as they were making their way towards the other display.

"I told you I've got your back. Although I wondered for a moment whether should I wait to see if you will roll on the ground to put out the flames." She gave him a mischievous grin.

"Maybe next time wait with patching me up, to see if I leak when I get something to drink." He replied sarcastically. Elizabeth only crossed her arms and huffed, her joke brutally shot down.

They made their way back to the timeline monument and entered the second exhibit, cardboard Indians and tepees all around them. Slate was already with them, narrating through the PA.

"The tin soldier has taken the credit for the deeds of the real ones." A wooden Indian with a tomahawk jumped out on them. This time Elizabeth did not flinch.

"Now young miss, this is where we wrapped ourselves in glory, on December 29th, eighteen-hundred and ninety."

"What does he mean?"

Booker knew what transpired at Wounded Knee. He heard of the slaughter of women and children, of the forceful disarming of the tribe before shots were fired.

"You don't want to know."

They moved through the display, Indians, war drums and flashing red lights designed to unsettle and scare. Elizabeth looked concerned but not really moved, looking around watchfully as she moved ahead of Booker with her quick lithe steps.

They entered the final room of the exhibit, and just like in the previous one, a statue of a man was in the centre of it all, standing tall with a rifle, surrounded by brutish natives. Elizabeth got close to it to read the plaque.

"President Comstock, Captain of the 7th Regime-"

"COMSTOCK WASN'T THERE!" Slate was venting his rage through the speakers. "Not only we were betrayed, but now our past is being stolen from us! He claims those deeds as his, making a painted whore out of our history and out of Columbia. I can still hear the screams… Can Comstock?"

And screams they were, as the room filled with Slate's veterans once again, red lighting and their surreal disfigurement making them little different from the monstrous Indians standing around the heroic Comstock. Just like the Peking exhibit, this room had plenty of cover and room to run around and Booker made ample use of it, dodging, shooting and firing vigors. This time around Elizabeth was not idle either, tossing Booker a spare gun and ammunition. It was a strange sight to see a Pinkerton agent take on veterans of Peking, but Bucking Bronco and Devil's Kiss evened out his chances, while New York upbringing provided the sufficient strength to tear out throats and sternums of soldiers that attempted to close distance with DeWitt.

"You did them a favour Booker. You let them die like men." All present voice of Slate was already upon them.

"I didn't ask for this. I had no quarrel with these men." Despite being neck-deep in this, Booker was insistent on proving that this was forced on him, not his desire. Talent for combat did not equal will to kill. He and Elizabeth carried on with post-combat resupplying.

"Heroes never ask."

Elizabeth wavered for a bit to approach bloody Booker, holding a fistful of dollars for him. Unlike Slate, she wasn't so certain of Booker's outright heroism.

"B-Booker, I found some money on the dead soldiers."

"Much obliged."

"Do you think these men really deserved death like that?" She asked hesitantly.

"They sure came seeking it. I told you, if you don't draw…"

"But drawing first doesn't mean splitting their skulls with a dull hook!" Elizabeth was disgusted; her eyes squinted as she stared Booker's bloodied appearance. They started their walk back to the rotunda as they carried on talking.

"Now that you are out of yours, you might realize cages have their advantages." He was back to square one with her. He was no teacher; he did not have the time or words to lay out brutality of the world in detail to her or justify himself. Besides, he had no desire to do it either.

"A choice is better than none, Mr DeWitt. No matter what the outcome"

"Yeah? And what if you woke up one day and realized you didn't like what you chose?"

"You don't have to make those choices alone. And no outcome is inevitable."

He did not reply to that, but pondered on her words. So far his life was a series of choices he took because he did not see an alternative. Truth be told, he never really asked if there is any even if he was reluctant about it. Just like this job.

They returned to the lobby and found the doors to the last display open.

"We're almost done, DeWitt, I have what you need. Meet me past Lady Comstock Memorial and Columbian Destiny exhibit."

Booker and Elizabeth followed the order and went through the open doors. The narration was not over as they laid their eyes on the richly decorated setting made up of fountains, brass and marble angels and myriad of lit candles, with Lady Comstock's portrait as the centrepiece. The room was nothing short of a chapel.

"You see what Comstock did to my history. Now see what he did to his and what he planned for the world."

The woman in the portrait stood turned to the side in a regal pose, head raised high and donning a blue dress with a small hat, completing the effect.

Elizabeth seemed captivated by the portrait, admiring the queenly pose of the First Lady.

"Say what you will about Lady Comstock, that woman hand an eye for fashion."

They walked past the decorated antechamber into the memorial proper, where Lady Comstock's possessions and exhibited items could be found behind the glass. The focus of the room was a kneeling statue of the First Lady, her hands joined in prayer. Hidden in the hallway, just behind the kneeling Lady stood a brooding figure, ready to jump at her with a red knot in her hands.  
As Booker trudged ahead past the glass casings of the exhibits, Elizabeth read the plaque that was at the feet of the assailant's statue.

_The vile murder of the First Lady by the vile anarchist Daisy Fitzroy._

"At least now we know what the deal is with those rebels" Booker said. "We should be fine as long as we stay clear of this business." Unbeknown to him, he was in the thick of it as far as Slate was concerned.

As they moved to another room, they were greeted with triumphant music playing in the background, while the decorations got more opulent and the walls of the room turned from sunset oranges of the Memorial to the azure of the midday with clouds and flying neoclassical architecture. In the centre, yet another statue stood, this time of George Washington and Columbia, together lifting a cloud, on top of which sat a city.

'_Raising of Columbia_' was of little interest to Booker however, who quickly skipped the room.

"_Columbia tours the world_" was similarly ignored by him, although Elizabeth tried to walk slowly, observing with interest the image of Columbia travelling across the planet, striding with bare feet over the surface of the globe.

The last room was clearly designed to be the showpiece of the hall, as it was the biggest one. The allegory of Columbia occupied a tall pyramid made of steps in the centre, carrying a sword in one hand and standing tall over stereotypes of all races and nationalities, which cowered at her feet and covered their faces from the light that emanated from the torch held by the personification by her. '_Empire of Liberty'_ made them stop in their track.

Elizabeth looked at the statue doubtfully. "I don't think that is what Founding Fathers had in mind originally when they wrote the Constitution."

"Intentions aren't worth much in themselves; its how you go about fulfilling them that matters."

"Even if they end up completely out of tune with what you intended? What happened to-"

"Elizabeth." He cut her off sharply. Booker was growing tired of her holier than thou attitude. "Choices cannot always be made. That's why intentions go to hell if your only choice is to live or die."

Elizabeth replied darkly, almost mocking Booker's previous statement. "What if you woke up one day and realized that you did not like what you chose? Can you live with yourself like that?"

She then looked at the sneering statue draped in stars and stripes, standing proudly over the ugly foreigners, and begun reciting from her flawless memory.

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

She had him again, and in an unexplainable way, made him regret killing Slate's men. Stupid thing it was, but the regrets were now coming out, just as she started peeling away at his blunt demeanour. What did he care about her opinion anyway? It wasn't her that he cared about or Slate's honour; it was his conscience of all things. Hell, the girl was just the last thing to come out of his bad choices. But she was also his ticket to freedom.

"Let's just find Slate and be done with this."

They finally made their way outside through the last door. There, they found a courtyard beyond a closed gate.

"I can get through these bars, but you are too broad. Let me scout ahead, see if there is some way to move forward." Elizabeth slipped past the gate's bars, her slender form making it effortless.

She took few steps forward, looking around, but her excursion beyond the gate was stopped by a flash of light and tall, grey-white scaffolding appearing out of nowhere.

"Is that-" While surprised, Booker was more restrained this time.

"It's a tear. Something I can bring into this world."

"It's a freight hook. That's convenient."

"As I said, it's a form of wish fulfilment."

She stretched out her arm forward and concentrated for a brief moment. The tear flashed again and the scaffolding that just before was a ghostly apparition was now a material part of their universe.

Booker recalled his first freight hook jump back at the Monument Island and simply let the hook lift him before dropping on the other side next to Elizabeth.

"Thanks."

"I don't think it's the last of it. Whenever I get anxious, tears have a way of appearing."

Booker didn't need tear power to know that the courtyard was simply too good of a place to be used for an ambush. He looked across the deathly quiet open space. Definitely an ambush, he said to himself.

"I can bring up some cover through tears if you need it, or I can open up a door to the building up ahead."

"I'm not jumping blind in there. Let's move ahead and see if Slate is hiding somewhere there."

They went down the stairs to the courtyard proper and moved into the last hall of the exhibition, which held the 'the Future of Power' as well as the exhibit of the 'tin men' themselves, as Slate called the animatronic figures of George Washington. Booker and Elizabeth saw quite few of them already around the Columbia, but it hardly seemed that those toys could replace real soldiers.

The place was quiet with little light and vandalized displays. Slate was nowhere to be seen or heard and they both feared of breaking the fragile silence, whispering to each other.

"I don't like this place. There is something odd about those automatons."

"There is something odd about this whole damn place. Too many nooks and crannies everywhere, in addition to these damned dolls He could be anywhere."

They took few steps further, looking uneasily at the presidents behind the glass. They got to the middle of the gallery where a circular information desk was littered with small toys and broken vigor bottles. Elizabeth picked up a small Patriot doll with a little card attached to it.

_I love Slate_

"RARE IS A MAN WHO TAKES A STAND..."

Unexpectedly, all of the automatons came to life one by one, playing their recorded messages and moving inside their displays. The noise startled them, but Booker did hear footsteps amidst the din of the mechanical figures, quick steps that were headed towards the exit.

But he was unable to give chase as the last patriot at the end of the hall came to life his casing. This model however differed from others, in that he carried a long 8-barrled gun with a crank to turn it. That patriot seemed to be fully mobile as well, as it smashed glass with the heavy gun and stepped outside. It turned its blank porcelain face towards Booker and started revving up the gun.

"ETERNAL VIGILANCE IS THE PRICE OF LIBERTY"

Unlike the previous Patriots, this one was fully motorized and spoke with a dead mechanical stutter, different from the recordings of the immobile ones. But that was the last thing on Booker's mind as he threw himself at Elizabeth, taking them both behind the desk counter just as the mechanical monster begun raining lead at them, sweeping toys and bottles right off the counter. Elizabeth was on the ground and had her head covered up with her hands while Booker crouched and rested with his back against the desk.

"That moving clock will tear through us, vigor or no vigor. Any ideas?"

"I can summon a distraction" she pointed to the side, where a shimmering outline of an automated gun turret appeared. The mechanized president was approaching as heavy thuds of his movement could be heard closing in.

"Do it!" The tear flashed and Elizabeth willed the gun automaton into existence. It immediately turned to face the patriot and opened fire of its own, stopping the mechanical golem and relieving the besieged information desk. Booker did not hesitate to get out of the cover and toss a fireball at the patriot and proceeded to tear him piece by piece with shotgun blasts. But the gun drone was weaker than the gatling gun, and despite Booker's barrage of fire, Patriot turned its torn face towards him and begun cranking up the gun again.

Booker was out of Devil's Kiss and had to duck to reload the shotgun. He doubted bucking bronco would work either on a moving ton of metal.

"You got to be kidding me, this thing won't stop coming! Can you summon something else?"

"I can't, it's too soon. I won't be able to concentrate."

"Well, I got no choice."

The Patriot stopped firing and lowered its gun; even a robot needed to reload his weapon. It was his chance and Booker jumped over the counter and run for the Patriot, pulling the trigger and lever of the shotgun in one fluid motion as he circled around him to get at his exposed gears at the back. Last blast landed squarely on the exposed machinery and the Patriot ceased to move, toppling over in a loud thud.

"Ok, now I know why Slate is so angry with the city." Booker spat out as he breathed heavily.

"Look, I think I found Slate's hideout." Elizabeth was pointing towards a back room, its doors open ajar and a trail of purplish footsteps that led to the entrance.

They went inside, bottles of purple vigor scattered everywhere alongside emptied crates and a dead museum attendant. Strangely enough, a Nostrum bottle lay untouched, hidden behind the barrel in the corner. Elizabeth found it in mere moments while Booker investigated the smashed up vigor. Slate apparently made sure that a drop was left of the quite sizable stock that was held in the Hall.

Booker kept on drinking the Nostrums that Elizabeth found for him. So far they managed to restore him to full health and even enabled him to run faster, or improved his reflexes. If anything, Columbia had a positive effect on his health at least.

They followed the purple footsteps outside and returned to the courtyard where a welcoming committee from Slate was already waiting for them. Slate himself, a bald man in a vivid uniform and with large moustache, eye covered up with a metal eye patch, stood triumphantly at the top of the stairs, looking at the pair below like a bird of prey would on a pair of mice in the grass.

"So, finally made your way to me, DeWitt, but I will let you know that you will not have the vigor. Tell Comstock that Shock Jockey is mine, and so is his ship.

"Hey, look, I think you are stuck in some kind of a jam here. I never been in Columbia before and I have no idea what's going on, so if you would see it fit to give us the card for the gondola-"

"You will get nothing from me until you prove yourself. I will not surrender to the betrayers or tin men."

The soldiers started to close in on them, their faces shimmering and twisting, their eyes glowing with that same golden light that Booker saw at the parade when the woman was possessed. They went from growling to shouting and hooting and they raised their weapons. Slate was all too happy to cheer them on, cackling maniacally.

Booker and Elizabeth took few steps back, with Booker shouldering the girl behind him.

"Do you think you could summon some help now?"

Elizabeth only nodded and closed her eyes, willing a wall of rubble and crates between them and the soldiers just as they begun firing at them. They hunkered down behind the barricade and Booker returned the fire, fending off the maddened soldiers. Unlike the previous ones though these needed more than one shot to be put down, their bodies shimmering and eyes burning with the yellow light.

Booker threw another Bronco at them and took a bunch of them out with shotgun, but more poured in from the side entrance.

"Booker, patriot!" he turned his head towards the clanking monster and dodged behind the cover again just as it revved up its gun.

"If you have any more ideas, they would be welcome about now!" He was out of vigors and their cover was growing thinner by the second. Elizabeth took another deep breath and concentrated on the center of the courtyard with another tear appearing. Her cheeks were reddened and her lips squished together in a thin line as she did her magic again. She must have been scared to bits, if her previous statement about being anxious was anything to go by, he thought. and it didn't seem to be without effect on her either.

"What did you do?"

"Fireball, now!" she shouted with a ragged breath.

He summoned his last vigor and tossed Devil's Kiss over the cover. A flash of heat and pained screams filled the courtyard, as well as strained whirring of the Patriot. They saw him running towards them around the cover, his clothes and flags on fire, porcelain mask cracked form heat. Booker shot at him once and toppled him over. They got out of cover and observed the aftermath of the inferno.

"Tin man, Tin man, TIN MAN!" Slate was furious, his soldiers dying in flames was a far cry from the glorious death he envisioned for them. He jumped down to the courtyard, standing amidst his smouldering followers.

Its over Slate, we are done with your game. Give us the card and we can leave."

Slate replied by putting his gloved hands together and stretching a big arc of electricity between them. Booker was fast enough to jump to the side and dodge the lightning bolt, but the vigor gave the old soldier unbelievably fast reflexes. Slate ran at Booker, slamming into him and throwing to the ground. He followed up by jumping on the downed PI with a raised fist. Booker dropped his shotgun, but kicked Slate away with his legs and got up, drawing his pistol at him. Now Slate was on the ground and Booker aimed at the old man, who now seemed to be without energy, resigned to his fate.

"What are you waiting for DeWitt? Eat everything that's on your plate! Finish it!"

"Not before I see the gondola card." He replied tersely. Booker was sick of the old man's whims. He was no soldier or hero; he just had a job to do.

Slate took the perforated card out of his pocket, alongside with a purple vigor bottle with a golden top in a shape of a jockey riding on a lightning bolt.

"Here, take them. Now pull the trigger. boy."

Elizabeth approached them slowly, observing the scene with apprehension.

"Turn around Elizabeth, you don't want to see this."

She obeyed, but Booker hesitated. He cocked the hammer and had the gun aimed at Slate, but his finger was frozen, unable to pull the trigger.

"What are you waiting for? Do it!." the old soldier was fuming, beaten down but still dangerous, his nostrils flaring and his single eye looking harshly down the barrel of the gun. Booker lowered his arm, then uncocked and holstered the gun.

"You are a tin man, you hear me, a TIN MAN!"

Slate slumped and collapsed on the ground completely, wheezing raggedly.

Elizabeth turned around and approached Booker.

"You spared him." She did not hide her surprise.

"A choice is better than none."

"Do you ever get used to it? The killing?"

Booker didn't know the answer. He knew he had to draw first and was good at it, but it wasn't something you would want gracing your résumé. He just dealt with it.

"I wish I didn't sometimes."

Booker picked up the bottle and card, which he handed to Elizabeth. Shock Jockey would be very handy in a next fi-

Booker caught himself again. There will be no next fight. All had had left was smooth sailing for New York and keeping Elizabeth agreeable. But he learned one thing about Columbia during these last few hours, which was that nothing was predictable.

He unscrewed the purple bottle and drank it. The smell of ether and other chemicals was present already, while the drink itself was acidic and fizzy, bubbling on his tongue as he swallowed it. He felt extreme tingling all over his body and his hair stood up, static dancing across his body, his fingers twitched uncontrollably as electric arcs jumped between his hands. It stopped as suddenly as it started.

"Come on, we got a flight to catch."

The gondola station was within their reach and Elizabeth ran for the controls, eagerly shoving the card into the console. Booker pulled the lever and with a satisfying ringing, the gondola begun moving towards them from the aerodrome.

From the darkness of the sky emerged several flying boats, and like moths around the flame, they begun circling around the aerodrome. The boats were hard to see with their dark blue paint against the night sky, but they made their presence noticeable by the fire they begun exchanging with Slate's crew that occupied the aerodrome.

Elizabeth observed the fire and lights with increasing concern.

"What are they doing? They will damage the airship!"

Booker was getting frustrated, the gondola was too slow. By the time they would arrive the, the zeppelin would be a torn up wreck.

Fate had apparently wished that he should stay longer in Columbia, as the fight ended with a big firework - a loose rocket hit the top of the airship, setting it ablaze. Elizabeth observed the damage with despair, her mouth dropping open. Booker only ground his teeth and swore profusely in his head.

The soldiers and policemen quickly put out the fire, but the ship was damaged, and not before long, it moved away from the dock and set off into night with an escort of the police boats. Their tickets were worthless, now that their ship was gone.

Elizabeth stood silently, staring into the distance where the First Lady airship sailed away, her shoulders sagged. Her first big disappointment, Booker thought. There was more to come where that came from, but she wouldn't be his worry for long.

Nonetheless, he did feel somewhat sorry for her, being the man who delivered her into the hands of the unknown. At the same time, he was freeing her. Her fate was up in the air, tails and heads simultaneously. It was up to Booker to call the result however.

"We will find out where they took the ship, but we need to find a place to rest for now. I don't want to be here when the coppers arrive.

Elizabeth only nodded and followed him quietly back to the main boardwalk, which by now was pacified. The place was much quieter and smashed up, with white-dressed attendants sweeping and cleaning the place, while police was taking care of the bodies and setting up their white-red barricades. Booker fixed up his suit and tie before tossing the shotgun away. Elizabeth stayed close to him and they both managed to arrive at one off the few intact inns left on the boardwalk.

"One room for two please." He spoke to the attendant at the hotel.

"Very well sir. Can I take your names please? That will be Mr..."

"Booker DeWitt."

And Miss…

"Elizabeth… umm…"

"Also, DeWitt" Booker interrupted her.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow just as Booker collected the keys. "I don't recall getting married to you."

Booker looked at her doubtfully "Do you know your last name? Besides, it would be suspicious if we ordered a single room while being unrelated. They are looking for you, remember?"

They arrived at their modest room and Elizabeth was first to use the bathroom, while Booker inspected the window for potential escape route, in case they were ambushed again. The room wasn't very high above the boardwalk and a single skyline ran just below it. It would suffice, he thought.

When Booker came out of the bathroom after his turn to use it came around, he saw Elizabeth sitting on the edge of the large bed, playing with her fingers nervously. She looked up at him timidly.

"Mr DeWitt, there is only one bed, so I don't know how do you propose we-"

"Don't worry about that." He cut her off, chuckling. "You can sleep in the bed while I will keep watch. I will sleep in the chair."

She looked surprised but also relieved. She quickly settled herself in and fell asleep while Booker took his place in the armchair by the window. He tried to sleep with his eyes half-closed and his hand on the holster, but he too quickly succumbed to his exhaustion.

* * *

**Development notes**: Few things here, apart from rearranging of the Hall of Heroes to fit with the jingoistic Columbia more, as well as setting up plot elements for later chapters. Note the soldiers who are both deformed by vigors and affected by Tears. Slate's madness is as much an outcome of the way he was treated as well as his addiction to Shock Jockey (game makes that connection by the crystals he is growing on the side of his head.) This addiction to vigors is reminiscent of ADAM addiction and was meant to feature among Columbians who were to attack you with vigors too. These "vigor junkies" were deformed and displayed effects of vigors on them. Also, Elizabeth continues to show off her powers and and helps Booker out.

On the Booker part of the story: Throughout the development, Booker seemed to be more of a younger, 'rougish type' detective rather than your older, depressed everyman veteran that he turned out at the end. Wounded Knee appears as a story element with Comstock in the demos on his posters, but not with Booker, as the Wounded Knee bit is not visible on his personal box in the earlier reveals of the intro sequence. This also ties in with the clothes he wore in the game - the DeWit the detective wore a suit (as per demos), while DeWitt the veteran wears a vest with a explains why Booker does not know Slate personally in this chapter or has any depressive memories related to Wounded Knee.

Lastly, my personal addition: Elizabeth recites a fragment of Emma Lazarus' " The New Colossus". I always thought that this sonnet fitted nicely with the game's themes in a perfect contrast between the America that really was and the nationalist rendition of the country as portrayed by Columbia.


	9. Chapter 9 - Train Troubles

******Hey folks, did you miss me? Here's another chapter of the crazy adventure. This one is a very much my own creation and bit of a bridge between game sections. I am sorry for the terrible delay, but life has its way of stealing my free time. Look out for the notes below, as usual!**

* * *

**Train Troubles**

Booker awoke as suddenly as he fell asleep and was welcomed by the rays of early sun pouring in through the window. He looked around nervously but eased up when he realized nothing was out of order. He looked over to Elizabeth, who was still soundly asleep. The girl had hell of a ride yesterday, he thought. First the escape, then combat and those tears were hell of a thing too. He still had a hard time processing the events of yesterday, surreal as they were. Worst of all, they were stuck without a transport. He walked over to the small bathroom to wash his face when he heard a flurry of footsteps on the stairs and down the corridor.

His instincts kicked in and he ran for the bed, grabbing Elizabeth by the arm and yanking her out of it.

"Get up, we gotta move!"

Awoken abruptly, she looked around confused before Booker dragged her to the window and leaped out it just as the doors burst open, a surge of Columbian policemen and plain clothes agents filling the room.

She screamed in terror and gripped his arm with all her strength as he flung them out onto the skyline below. If either of them was still half-asleep five seconds ago, they were fully awake now. The police boats were surrounding the hotel building and shots could be heard but they soon were a distant echo as they zipped high above the boardwalk.

"Are you crazy? You could have killed us both!"

Booker heard a high-pitched voice from somewhere below, but he ignored it. All he could do for now was to clench his teeth and hold on to the skyhook while Elizabeth hung from his arm. Despite her small frame, having her swing around on his one arm wasn't easy.

They zipped past most of the boardwalk and now the skyline was ascending towards another section of the city. But booker could feel the strain on his both arms. While escape form the Monument Island was an adrenaline-driven, life or death escape, this felt like a lazy rollercoaster ride.

Booker looked down to Elizabeth and raised his voice over the rush of the air.

"Elizabeth, do you see anything below?!"

"Why do you ask?!" she shouted back.

"Because I can't hold on much longer!"

She looked at him with panic and begun looking around for a place to land, to no avail. All she had in sight were clouds and buildings drifting in distance around and below.

Their position became more desperate as the police boats begun to close in, catching up and circling around them like a pack of wolves. Despite their movement on the skyline, the boats came in closer and some policemen joined them on the line, armed with pistols and skyhooks.

There was no way out for them. Except down.

"Elizabeth, I'm letting go!"

"Wha-aaa!"

Booker suddenly let go off the line and they both plunged down like rocks, much to surprise and bewilderment of the policemen that surrounded them. There was no line below, only rooftops and clouds. They would either fall to the earth or spatter themselves on one of the floating platforms.

They still held hands as they saw a surface of one roof close in below them. It was then when Elizabeth yanked her hand out of his grip and moved them both in her tear-summoning gesture. They were mere feet above the ground when they both suddenly slowed down in the air and landed gently on the roof. Booker landed on his back with a small thump while Elizabeth stood on her legs, albeit breathing heavily, her loose hair flowing over her face. She looked like a proper witch now, he thought, her eyes buried beneath the curtain of loose hair.

"That was... incredible. Elizabeth, are you alright?" he approached her, concerned, just as she collapsed to the ground in a heap, still gasping and clutching her chest.

"Those things... the-they aren't exactly as easy as tears." She spat out between gasps.

"I can imagine, it takes the wind out of you, like trying to lift a crate that's too heavy for you and yet you do it."

"I never worked had to lift any crates before, but I imagine that's as good comparison as any." she replied with a grin. She got up, her breathing now more stable and eased. She put her loose hair behind.

"Aww, I lost my ribbon. How can I go around with my hair in such a mess?"

Booker however was already on the lookout for the coppers. The roof had a single access door to the building. He quickly walked over to it and tried it. Locked.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked at him and the door knowingly. "What, this little lock? How about something really challenging?"

She deftly unlocked the doors and they descended down the stairs into the building. It appeared to be a rich private residence. Booker treaded softly with expertly footsteps and Elizabeth followed his example, her little feet making no noise on the fluffy carpets of the mansion. The place was silent and despite the early hour, empty. Booker eased once they arrived in the main room of the house, making sure all its inhabitants are gone.

"We need to find where they took the airship, but we got a minute to spare here."

Elizabeth nodded as she heard Booker's permission and begun looking around for supplies. They didn't have a chance to rest or eat with their sudden wake-up, so Booker's first steps were aimed at the kitchen, where he set himself upon a can of beans and a bottle of whiskey he found in the cupboard. That stuff was for cooking, but now any booze would do.

"It appears you are quite popular, Mister DeWitt" Elizabeth announced as she entered the kitchen, clutching morning newspaper from the front door, its second page emblazoned with Booker's photograph. She showed it to him and smiled roguishly.

He took the paper from her and gleaned at the report, calling him a foreign infiltration and an anarchist. What was worse, Elizabeth was mentioned in the article, however her description was sparse and there was no picture of her... yet.

Meanwhile the girl took an apple from a bowl that stood on the kitchen table and took a bite. She looked at Booker's breakfast worryingly.

"Are you sure you should be drinking this early?"

"Helps me calm my nerves. I shoot better after a glass or two," he replied half-jokingly. She only raised an eyebrow and continued her eating.

He considered the news in the paper.

"This is getting bad. We need to leave." Another black-and white picture in the paper caught his eye, portraying the First Lady surrounded by police and technician boats.

"Elizabeth, ever read about 'Finkton' in those books of yours?" he inquired.

"As a matter of fact, I did." She replied. "It's the industrial part of Columbia, which contains most of manufacturing, construction and repair activity of the city. Its name comes from its owner, Jeremiah Fink."

"Well then, we are going to pay Finkton a visit, because that's where the ship is docked now."

Elizabeth visibly lit up as she heard the good news. She put down the apple and opened up a cupboard and then another, intently looking for something.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a frying pan. I'm going to make us a breakfast."

"Do you think we have time for this? Besides..."

"Besides, who knows when the next ambush happens? And it's not like the owners will miss few eggs and couple cups of flour." She made a good point, but Booker felt uneasy sitting in someone's house and eating their food. He didn't mind drinking their spirits, those were always fair game.

"I'm going to check out the rest of the house then." He got up and left her to her devices.

Booker was interested in more information or money, and the place looked rich. He only glanced at the empty saloon and a bedroom before moving on to what seemed like a private office. A heavy wooden desk with a telephone, a brass lamp and a stack of papers dominated the small study, while wooden shutters let in only little light.

Booker looked at the files on the desk, only to notice the person to whom they were addressed too.

"Councillor Bowles… sounds familiar" he whispered to himself, before pulling out the permit papers to the city he got from Pinks. The names were the same.

Booker was sure it was a coincidence, but he would be a fool if he did not look at the documents. His instincts and curiosity joined hands and he begun browsing the files. Most of them were long committee minutes and legislation drafts, but one small note attracted his attention.

_DeWitt is on his way. The subject will be out of the city soon. Do not tell others._

_- R.R.L_

There was a reason why Slate had such an interest in him, why he knew what he was up to, even though he did not say much. Elizabeth was still in the dark, but it was obvious he was set up from the start, if others knew about his mission. He pocketed the note and put the files back. As far as coincidences went, it was no coincidence that Booker was in Columbia.

He pocketed few bullets that were in the drawer next to a small revolver and left the dark office, heading back to Elizabeth.

"Did you find anything?" Elizabeth asked him as she was in the middle of filling two plates with pancakes.

"Not really, just some spare ammunition." He gave the air an audible sniff. "I must admit, I am surprised at what you can do."

She gave him a pleased look. "After being stuck in one place your whole life, you get sick of eating corned beef and beans all the time." She set the plates on the kitchen table and handed Booker a fork.

"As soon as I learned to read, I asked Songbird for ingredients I found in a cook book. I don't think he understood me very well, because he kept bringing me crates full of most random cans and bags." She smiled melancholically, brushing loose hair from her face.

They finished their breakfast rather quickly, as both of them had little to eat since the previous day. They couldn't linger around for long, especially in this place, Booker considered.

"I think we can leave the dishes dirty, let's move."

Elizabeth made a beeline for the front door of the house, but Booker's voice stopped her just as she was about to reach the doorknob.

"No point in going out on the street if everyone knows how I look like. We better get back on the roof and make our way through there."

"Does Mister DeWitt know where to go?" she asked him sarcastically. "I'm pretty sure that with your deduction skills we will find the way towards in no-"

"We follow the skylines. We only need to know which direction the cargo crates are coming from and we look for Finkton cargo crates." he replied to her. He enjoyed bursting her bubble ever so often.

"Right, a very good deduction. I was waiting for you to say that." She twirled her hair absent-mindedly, trying to cover up her error. He didn't mind it at all.

They made their way back to the roof, and Booker looked around for a skyline to hook up to. This time Elizabeth wouldn't be dandling form his arm, he thought. No way he would carry her like that all the way to Finkton, wherever that was-

His musings and their search was cut short by a high-pitched screech and a sound of massive wings gliding above them in the clouds. Elizabeth's face bore look of sheer terror as she begun frantically looking around for an escape route.

"No no no, please, not now."

Skyline was not an option, Booker realized. Neither was going back inside. A freight hook hanging low above the street and a shop warehouse with doors slid open on the opposite building would do it, provided no one would see them.

The high pitched scream also scattered the few people below and forced them inside as the massive monster glided down and landed heavily on the roof where Booker and his ward stood mere moments ago. Its red eye scanned the roofs and the street below, looking for signs of the brunette girl.

They crept behind the crates inside the small storage room, holding their breath, petrified. Booker peered from behind the half-open door, observing the bird as it searched for them. He tried to be as careful as possible but the hulking monster suddenly turned its eye at the door and the light changed from orange to red. Booker ran for the far end of the room, dragging Elizabeth off the floor as he grabbed her hand. As he grabbed her, the door of the warehouse was smashed by a gloved appendage of the giant, stretching to grab Elizabeth. They were pressed to the wall of the warehouse as Songbird attempted to claw his way towards them.

There was no way out. Like cornered animals, they pressed their back to the wall even harder. Booker took out his pistol and let loose few shots at the gloved hand, but the bullets had little effect on the iron-like leather. His exasperation grew as the hand approached when he sudenly lost sight of it. Moreover, he lost the wall behind him and felt as gravity dragged him down. Only when he landed squarely on the crates strewn across the room did he realize what happened.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, where are you?" He sat up, rubbing back of his head. The girl was a definite death-trap, he decided. If not her captors, she would find a way to kill you in a physics-defying spectacle.

"I'm here Mister DeWitt." She appeared amidst the boxes. "I think we got away. But I am not exactly sure where we are."

"It's still Columbia, alright" he pointed at the Finkton mark stamped on the crates. Now he was rubbing his back. "We need to find our bearings and keep on going before that oversized canary finds us again." He looked at Elizabeth with confusion on his face. "How did we get out anyway? Another of your tears?"

"Well, I just wanted to get away from him badly, and as I told you before, my wish has been granted. Hey, don't look at me like that, I got a bump on a head too." she retorted half-jokingly as she noticed Booker's unspoken complaint about the sudden change of environment writ large on his upset face.

They stumbled around the warehouse for a bit, trying to make their way out of the dimly lit place when they realized that the only viable entrance is behind a pyramid of boxes that were too heavy for Booker to lift.

"These... things... won't.. budge. Uff." He leaned on them as he gave up trying to move them. Elizabeth sat on a nearby crate and observed agent's futile attempts.

"Here, let me try," she stood up and concentrated, moving her hands forward and making a gesture in the air as if she was lifting the boxes in the air. And even though her small hands were not holding any real burden, Booker could see the effort of her muscles and the veins that appeared as the crates in front of him begun rising into the air. The crates landed gently on the side as Booker observed the spectacle.

He looked at her again, locked in the titanic effort and noticed something dripping from her nose. It stained her upper lip as the small line of liquid made its way from her nostril.

"Elizabeth, are you alright? Your nose..."

His voice was enough to break her concentration and she exhaled hard as she turned to him, with the crates that were still in air crashing loudly on the floor. She touched her nose and looked at the bloodied fingers, while holding her chest with the other hand, breathing heavily.

"You're bleeding."

She took the scarf that now was loosely hanging around the collar of her blouse and wiped her nose. Few drops already stained the blouse.

"Now I remember why I avoided doing those tricks in the tower." She recalled her captivity again.

"At first it was just books and teddy bears, and melting of the doorknobs. But I kept growing so I begun moving onto bigger and bigger things. Then, one day, I tried lifting furniture and I got dizzy, it was so heavy. After I saw blood, I was scared to death. And there was no one to explain to me what it was and why it happened."

"Are tears different then?" Booker inquired as he gave the boxes another go, now that Elizabeth removed the top stack.

"Well, they are like opening up curtains or... doors. And I only can open up existing ones."

"I understand. I think." He gave the obstacles another push and made enough space for both of them to slip out to the door and out of the warehouse. Booker had to reconsider what he thought of her yet again. Not only was she dangerous to everyone around her, she was dangerous to herself too. If he was in any other situation, he would have ditched her, people like her attract plenty of bad luck. An errant thought crossed his mind, as he looked at her yet again. She attracted more than bad luck, or at least she would, had she not been locked up her whole life. Despite her ragged looks, she was a sight to behold…

Damn it DeWitt, focus on the airship. She won't fly away, no need to dance around her like an egg. Or at least he hoped she would not fly away. Elizabeth's displays ensured that Booker did not take anything for granted in relation to her anymore.

They found themselves outside of another warehouse, just above the street that not long ago was prowled by Songbird, just opposite the warehouse where they were cornered. The place was devastated. The street so suddenly vacated by the Songbird still remained empty, and the eerie silence mixed with their quiet breaths as they looked around cautiously.

They descended to the street and begun their walk down the strangely quiet area. While still bearing humdrum of normal activity as people got out of hiding after Songbird's passage and the last day's decorations were still visible alongside election posters, they both sensed something was out of place.

While Elizabeth was inspecting mannequins and clothing on display in a shop, Booker's attention turned to a completely different thing. A big poster that bore the image of a saintly-looking older man, with a mane of white hair and a rich beard to match. The caption around the image however was the most interesting part.

"Elizabeth, is Comstock a priest by any chance?"

"No, President Comstock was a member of Congress before 1893 and was a part of the official committee that designed Columbia." She shone with her encyclopaedic knowledge. She turned to face him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I am wondering why is he suddenly sporting a beard...?"

He turned back to the billboard only to see a faint shimmer of the poster, which now encouraged Columbian citizens to vote for the smart-looking gentleman with slicked-back hair, a veteran of Wounded Knee no less.

"If this is a joke Mister DeWitt, I don't understand it" she said puzzled. "Why would Comstock have a beard?"

There it was again. That bloody shimmering and morphing surroundings. Nothing was solid and Booker started to doubt that Columbia was real, yet he felt, smelt, tasted and saw everything. This was no hallucination, as maddening as it was.

"Did you ever see things change in front of you?"

"Isn't that normal? Clouds change shapes and disappear, leaves fall from trees, and paper grows yellow..."

"No, I mean did anything ever 'change' in front of you?" He continued his inquiry as they continued to wander slowly ahead. "Did a piece of paper suddenly turned from white to yellow in an instant? Or a picture changed from showing a man with a beard to a man without one?"

I don't think so Mister DeWitt."

"It's Booker"

"Yes. Sorry, Booker"

"Well, I think that is what's going on here."

"Sounds like tears, only... natural." She replied thoughtfully. She seemed intrigued by the subject too.

They slowly approached the empty station; in the corner of the hall they could see a blue-glowing automaton-dispenser. It was half damaged and an ugly-looking fellow in a tattered suit, his face contorted into the strangest of shapes and bearing burn marks, sat nearby the vigor dispenser quietly, almost disconnected form the world around, if his eyes were any indicator.

"There's nothing natural about them, alright." He adjusted his belt and made sure the gun is in the holster. He was wary of another ambush and he didn't like the looks of the mutated fella, his flesh leathery and blackened, his glazed eyes bearing orange glow. Despite seemingly high odds of losing it in a place like Columbia, his gun always found its way back to him, courtesy of his mechanical reflexes, honed in New York and with Pinkertons.

The station was empty save for few more tranquil locals, few of them chatting to each other and ignoring the disfigured man or the par that just entered the station. The eerie atmosphere grew and Booker tensed up.

"Do you see any gondolas for Finkton?"

"I do, but the last gondola left few minutes ago, next one will be later in the morning, at around seven thirty." Elizabeth inspected the train timetable while Booker cursed silently to himself.

Elizabeth strolled along the platform of the station, looking at half-open crates stacked on the station ramp while Booker took out his pocket watch from his waistcoat. It was seven. Of all things he hated to do, he had to wait.

I don't think we will have to wait long, Booker." Elizabeth seemed interested by an item she found nestled on the straw in a crate. She took it out and showed it to Booker, who recognized the skyhook, comically too large for her.

"This is going to be amazing." She seemed excited at the prospect of riding on her own as she stuck the device to her arm and gave it an experimental whirl. Booker enjoyed it too, now that they had way to move around without having to wait for a gondola.

"Hey, what are you doing with those crates?" A rough and throaty voice called out to them, which turned out to be the voice of the burnt man, his eyes red and glowing, alongside with those few citizens that were previously sitting quietly on the benches, now following him and forming a semi-circle around Booker and Elizabeth. Their eyes were wide and frozen in a mad glare and their faces twisted in ugly grimaces.

The burnt man put his hands together and begun summoning a ball of fire, but Booker already had his pistol out and aimed at the man. He shot the fireman through his head and the small crowd let out a terrifying cry, howling and hooting at Booker as the fireman fell to the ground with a thump like a piece of cardboard.

"Elizabeth, go!" Booker let out few more shots and jumped on the stacked up crates, using them as stairs towards the skyline. Elizabeth jumped right before him, and despite her small stature she managed to get up on the skyline in front of Booker.

They rode fast, but the crazed group followed them, taking hooks of their own out of the crates and using small devices attached to their forearms, gaining quickly on the pair. The skyline floated in the air with the most bizarre twists and turns, shaking Booker's aim as he tried to line up a shot. The skyline was a heavy duty one, running with two rails joined together with bars. The pursuers split into two, some of them jumping on to the second rail, and with their devices, they quickly caught up with Booker and Elizabeth.

This was perfect for him however, as the maddened people swung their boards and pipes at them, distance between too wide, while he shot them down one by one, just like he did with the cardboard cut-outs at the fair. At around his tenth shot the magazine came up empty, and the crowd did not relent. It was impossible to reload in the air.

"Booker, jump!"

He heard the command and not a moment too late. Elizabeth let go off the skyline, revealing a big crate ahead of them. Booker narrowly missed smashing into it with his face as he let go, falling after her. Their pursuers started falling too, but their damaged and unconscious bodies fell helplessly around them after their meeting with the cargo crate that occupied both rails.

Their dive was cut short by another skyline, this time carrying a gondola on it, which was mildly populated with passengers. Those seemed to be normal, workers and clerks on their morning commute. They both managed to latch on to the rail behind the gondola, and from it, jump onto the train. They received surprised and unpleasant glares, but those were ones of annoyed passengers who has to endure people cutting in rather than that of a vigor-infused maniacs.

"Excuse me mister, where is this train headed to?" Elizabeth asked sweetly one of the suited clerks in a bowler hat, correcting her loose air.

"Finkton, miss."

"Well, aren't we the lucky types? We caught our train." She turned to Booker with a roguish grin on her face.

He returned the smile with a smirk of his own and a small chuckle. _Lucky types indeed..._

* * *

**Development notes: **So far we are seeing more of the cut game elements here, in one form or another, save for one fresh introduction - Elizabeth's powers are more than just tears, but they are an actual manipulation of the physical world, and as such they take much bigger toll on her, including the nosebleeds and heavy internal exhaustion. This goes back to the 2010 demo where we see the same thing happen. In this rendition of the game, Elizabeth is both more powerful but also more fragile. Can our dashing agent deal with that? Also, Tears are sometimes bit more spontaneous than Booker would like, indicating at unstable and the not yet fully formed potential of Elizabeth's abilities. Those will grow and will be changed by Booker's choices, as they were meant to be in the game.


	10. Chapter 10 - Promises Broken and Made

**Ladies and gentlemen, we are hitting Finkton now! Things seem well under way now and I would very much enjoy if you could leave feedback and comments, as well as any questions you want. After all, I'm writing this for my readers. For your favorite development notes, you will find them at the bottom, as usual.  
**

* * *

**Promises Broken and Made**

Elizabeth observed the changing horizon with anticipation, glued to the side of the gondola, as white fluffy clouds mixed and finally gave way to grey smoke and haze that shrouded a forest of soaring chimneys and tall factory buildings, which replaced the houses and floating streets.

Booker still had hard time comprehending the idea of a floating city, let alone floating factories. Where were they getting all that stuff from? Yet the sky was abuzz with activity, airships and transport boats, gondolas and cargo crates, all moving in and out of the great smokestack of Finkton.

One thing that really bothered him however was the complete dissonance between places in Columbia. With each piece a floating island of its own, some things may have been slightly different; after all New York was more than just Manhattan, but it was downright scary for him how the people on the streets seemed completely oblivious to the vigor-infused maniacs and tears that tore and morphed the city and people right in front of them. Or if they knew about it, they ignored the problem with an unnatural calm. They did however mind the sight of foreigners or people demanding better working conditions; oh no sir, a proper American will not tolerate such things in his city! No wonder the city felt alien to him, despite flag waving and the July atmosphere.

His pondering was cut short by the short bell announcing their arrival at the stop. Finkton station was no different from other Columbia Transit station, but it led out onto a platform connecting the gondola with a busy square. The street was dominated by a massive golden statue of a business man in a top hat, holding a pocket watch in his left hand and holding the lapel of his coat in the other. A massive clock hung over the street, just below the statue's feet, with exaggerated time sections that replaced the hours: WORK, SLEEP, REST, ENTERTAINMENT. The time of the people in Finkton was regulated from the very top.

Old Glory hung from the flagpoles above the clock. _So this is meant to be America, huh Fink? _

"The man must have quite an ego" Elizabeth observed as they stepped off the gondola, the mass of people rushing to work pushing past them. If there is one thing Booker was happy about in his line of work, it was the freelance nature of it.

"Yeah, but now we got to find the airship."

"Any idea where we should start looking?" Elizabeth inquired from the agent.

"The newspaper mentioned docks, we need to head there."

"Do you know where the docks are?" Elizabeth was itching to make another sarcastic comment about Dewitt's deductive skills; he could see her struggling with herself, trying not to sound impatient. He laughed in his mind. _Don't worry Elizabeth, I'm itching to be gone from here as much as you do._

The gondola station, just like other places in Columbia, had a sizeable diagram of all places connected to it, including a spread of all of Finkton's parts. They approached it and studied it, before locating Finkton Docks.

"See, there we are, and this is where the ship is docked." Elizabeth pointed at places on the map and traced a route with her finger between the station and the Docks that hung just above beautifully-named "Fink Industries Worker Housing District."

Booker suspected that the district was not as neat as the name suggested.

"We only need to head west then."

The road to the Finkton Docks was clearly labelled, just like most of the routes and directions in Columbia. They had little trouble moving towards their goal, with workers too preoccupied with their mind-numbing work and policemen too busy looking over the workers to care about the odd pair.

And an odd pair they were. An agent in a roughed up suit and cuts on his face and a girl in a torn blouse and bloodied scarf, her hair cascading over her arms loosely. If one did not pay attention, it wasn't hard to take them for a pair of locals from a factory slum.

However, both Booker and Elizabeth seemed equally distracted, gazing at the strange nature of the company town. The harsh clocks were everywhere, their ticking measuring the pace of work, giant posters glorifying work in Finkton and the future it held for the workers who surrendered themselves to the all-powerful tycoon. The company buildings at the station square gave way to factory ones, the opulent decorations turning into brick and wood of the manufacturing halls. Not before long they found themselves at the entry to the docks, blocked off by a gate and a police post. A secure gate and a turret accompanied the checkpoint and backed up the policemen that checked entry papers for each worker passing through.

They stopped some distance away from the gate, careful of the guards and trying to remain inconspicuous of the people around them.

"How do we enter Finkton now?"

"There must be a way to get around those checkpoints."

They were both startled when a deep male voice behind them spoke up.

"If you seek the passage to First Lady, you will find her at Finkton Wharf Shipping. But the entry there is restricted as of yesterday."

Booker turned around quickly, grabbing the man behind them by the collar and slamming him against the wall, with his pistol under the man's chin.

He did not look aggressive; a tall black man in worker overalls, dirty cap and a red scarf around his neck.

Booker stared at him with piercing gaze, sizing him up. He spoke in a hushed voice, laced with a clear threat.

"Who are you? How do you know about us?"

The man only stared at him and then Elizabeth dispassionately, before replying.

"You aren't the only ones who want out, and having the airship here nothin' but trouble. If you are the pair that everyone's looking for, your best bet is to go through north gate. There ain't nobody looking there."

Booker eased his grip and holstered the pistol, letting the man off. Elizabeth approached him and smiled.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to us."

"Don't you worry little miss, you have your man take care of you. You will be plenty of help to us."

Booker scowled as he heard that .That man was too suspicious for him as it was, helping them out of nowhere. Maybe the girl was inspiring some trust and a desire to be helpful; after all, how could anyone say no to those big blue eyes of hers?

But his instincts told him something else. There was something here, something else that Booker had yet to see. This was no random kindness, but he wasn't going to scoff at the advice they just got.

"Thanks pal, I think we can find our way now."

The worker only nodded and walked off, leaving them alone again. They began their walk down the alley, making their way though the labyrinth of crates and factory corridors.

"Are you always so mistrustful of everyone?" Elizabeth queried the agent. "Not everyone is out to get me, you know."

Booker wished that it were true. How could someone be so naïve? Yet it was strangely endearing. All the more reason to be paranoid, no telling when she would do something unexpected or if they were jumped again.

"I'd rather not take any chances."

"Little paranoid, are we?" Se tried to tease him about it.

"It never hurts in my line of work."

"No wonder then that you are still alone. Do you ever have fun?"

"Having fun got me here."

The girl went silent. There were some things that she still had to learn about him, and some things that he could not tell her. Like the fact that Paris is not their destination.

They followed Finkton streets, a labyrinth of factory halls, cargo crates and constant smoke around and above them. But the worker was not wrong; there was another checkpoint just up ahead, a solitary guard and no sentries that would bar the entry to the skyhook platform that could take them to the docks.

Once more Booker considered his options. Sneaking past was probably the best way around it, with Elizabeth nudging him and silently pointing to a freight hook that she could bring in just above the checkpoint, allowing them to skip past everything on the ground. He could just as easily take the man out with a well-placed shot, provided there was no one around to see it happen. But with Elizabeth in tow, he wanted to avoid making noise and blood. He nodded to her and she focused on the tear above them.

A strange noise and clanking of skyhooks intrigued Officer Patterson, assigned to watch over the approach to Finkton Wharf Shipping. The district had restricted access imposed on it ever since First Lady docked there for repairs, and the Vox activity was getting worse.

Patterson considered him to be an exemplary officer, and as such, decided to check out the noise happening behind the corner, crates obstructing the view of the approach to the dock. But he saw nothing.

Booker and Elizabeth made their way to the skyline ramp and jumped onto it, speeding towards Finkton Docks. The sights around them did not change much, with the drone of airship engines and the shuffling of cargo crates on the skylines and the sea of smoky haze as they approached their destination.

They made their way to the docks; a row of piers jutting out into the sky with warehouses and more factories behind them, supported by balloons and ever-present chimneys. The places was busy as any other in Finkton, with workers working in step to the slow beat of the music playing from the PA system, crates being shifted to and fro, with voice of Fink reigning over it all.

"_The most common complaint I hear form the working man is that they are 'unhappy' with their lot. But why torment yourself I ask…"_

But both of them had their sights on the First Lady. They could see the airship in the distance, with workers scurrying all over the ship, cleaning it and fixing the damage of the previous night. A cordon of Columbia's finest surrounded the dock. It seemed there was no alternative to get there but fight.

As they slowly approached the dock, Booker noticed some of the workers glancing at them, and oddly enough, all those had red scarves around their necks, just like the one who informed them of a side entry to the Finkton Docks. He smelled something fishy about the place, but he was too close to the airship to back away now.

"Gotcha now, DeWitt!"

Booker spun around and drew his gun, shooting a man in a black coat and a bowler that suddenly appeared behind them with several companions. Elizabeth ran for the cover of crates stacked at the edge of the platform while the policemen at the cordon rushed towards Booker.

He tossed a fireball at the agents while he himself ran for the cover where Elizabeth was. Soon enough he was followed by shots and shouts. The ambushers finally put out their flames, but Booker already followed up his shots with quick Jockey shocks. He ran to pick up a shotgun dropped by the plainclothes ambusher.

That's when he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, and his left leg suddenly gave way, stumbling him forward before he picked up the gun and lay behind another set of crates. He looked at himself and noticed a dark wet spot that grew underneath his coat. A quick glance at his leg revealed a small hole and bit of blood. Just grazed him, but he would take couple more shots at this rate. Nostrums made his body more resilient, but not bulletproof. He gritted his teeth and peeked out. He saw policemen rapidly approach, but just above them, a tear floated in the air. Strange, he thought for a second, that now he was starting to see the tears too.

"Elizabeth! Do it!"

Luckily, the assaulting policemen rushed past her in their pursuit after Booker, ignoring her. She looked up to him and then at the tear and in one swift motion willed a gun attached to a balloon into existence. The flying sentry swiveled its gun around towards the policemen and opened fire, catching them unawares and cutting down one of them.

That was all the distraction Booker needed, as he jumped out of his cover and got them with Bronco, launching the policemen high into the air. Elizabeth took that opportunity to use another tear with a skyline and bring in a crate that pushed all the policemen off the platform. As soon as Bronco wore off they fell, their screams quickly disappearing in the distance.

By now, a fresh group of policemen that oversaw the workers in the dock ran to the scene, but Booker's shotgun enough to take the measly group down.

Despite the bleeding shoulder, he managed to keep the gun steady, feeling barely any pain.

He policemen were down and Elizabeth got out of cover. Despite the destruction just witnessed and inflicted, her mind was somewhere else. Booker knew that look, the trepidation mixed with euphoria as one finally got to their destination, unsure if another obstacle will tear them away from their goal. He felt it too.

"C'mon Booker, the airship is ready!" Elizabeth ran for the ship, her quick little feet knocking rhythmically on the wooden pier as she ran for the ship. He noticed that workers stopped working, and those that did not flee the combat were now cheering. Were they cheering for them?

While the girl ran for the airship, while Booker went over to the plainclothes, looking over their bodies. They had to know something or be something more than mere goons. They kept ambushing him ever since he arrived in Columbia. He found his answer in a pocket of one of the men, luckily unburnt. He felt cold sweat as he saw the badge.

_Pinkerton National, Columbia Branch._

This was no paranoia of his anymore. First they send him up here, and then they are out to stop him. Someone really was out to get him. Except for a flying monster that is. He got oddly used to that fact, for some reason. He pocketed it, alongside with some spare ammo and cash.

He entered the interior, which looked every bit the luxurious airliner: dark wood floors and panels on the walls, red-cushioned seats, shelves with books and bronze ornaments. There were two tables with money and some supplies on them too, while a double door to a back cabin was closed. The girl wasn't here; no doubt she was in the back cabin. Good, he thought, he had some time to think.

Booked walked over to the control panel at the front and took a seat in the captain's chair. The controls were in front of him. Now, the moment of truth had come. How was he going to break it to her? He could simply coerce her… no, that wasn't going to happen. Last thing he wanted to do was to traumatize her. Yet, he was going to do it anyway, as soon as the truth was out.

Booker sighed. He checked his gun and put couple of extra shells in the shotgun. Then he took out the badge he took from downed agent and looked at it again.

Despite having done the job, he felt uneasy. Uneasy with how the whole deal felt, uneasy with this city. Or the girl. It seemed someone wanted Booker out of the picture- either he's already done his part by busting the girl out and was a liability now, or there was more than one party interested in her. Now, which answer sounded like less trouble, he wondered.

Booker heard the door to the back cabin open. He turned around to look but the girl was gone. Instead, he saw a woman in blue dress with a petticoat, a corset that went over it and exposed her cleavage and a small jacket. Her hair was cut short and the ponytail was gone. The tall boots were replaced with pointed, heeled shoes, and the earlier grime and dirt that were on her face and hair were gone. Booker looked closely at Elizabeth as she approached him with a smile and spun around. Her looks now left little to imagination by now. She even seemed to have touched up on her make-up.

"Elizabeth..."

"You would not believe the clothes they have back there. Some of them were so extravagant… I never had anything like that back in the tower." She sounded excited. "Besides, I'm not a little girl anymore." She touched her hair absent-mindedly. Booker couldn't help but notice that this look suited her, far more than he was willing to admit to himself.

"What's that?" She asked and pointed at the badge in his hand.

"A souvenir left by the men who tried to ambush us."

"How did you figure they'd know you'd be coming?"

"Either they got a prophet on their side or them that hired me also wrote the signs."

"Why?"

"You got me."

Further pondering was cut short as Elizabeth laid her hand on his left shoulder and Booker hissed, pain in his shoulder reminding about itself just as the adrenaline wore off.

"You're hurt! Let me patch you up." She ran over to the table at the back and brought over doctor's bag. Booker took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt, revealing a clean shot through his shoulder.

Booker winced and grunted as Elizabeth got to work. She deftly patched him up. As usual, during such moments, she bombarded him with questions. Mostly about him. Again.

"Where are you from Mr Dewitt?"

_Here we go, Dewitt. _

"New York."

"What did you do there?"

"Business much like this. Not something that really caters writing on a resume."

"It was a fine thing that you came along when you did." She wrapped the bandage around his shoulder as carefully as possible. Her voice was full of relief and gratitude.

"How do you thin I ended up here? I gambled." No point in hiding this any longer, he reasoned. They were finally at the ship, he owed her the truth at least. "And now I owe money to men you don't want o be in debt to. I've come to pay it back. Me busting you out? - what do you think that was, charity?"

Elizabeth finished with the bandage and stood up. Booker put his shirt and jacket back on.

"Who sent you?" she asked with consternation.

"Somebody who was willing to take my marker in exchange for you." Yet he himself knew not much more than her.

She walked over to airship controls and Booker shuffled tools to the side. Booker took levers into his hands and begun to steer the ship away from the dock. He hoped that Elizabeth wouldn't worry too much about what he just said.

"You alright?"

The young woman was already somewhere else, gazing into the distance, seeing the lights and the crowds of the City of Light in her mind.

"I want to see Paris. I want to see… everything."

Everything seemed fine so far. Far easier than DeWitt had assumed. Maybe his luck was beginning to turn.

"Well, that's up to you, now. There's no one-

"What, what is that?" She interrupted him as she pointed at the navigation display. "40 North by 74 West? That's not Paris, that's New York." She crossed her arms and looked at looked at Booker questioningly.

"How did you know that?"

"One thing I had in that tower was time, Mr Dewitt. Time to study things like geography." She thrust her finger at him in accusation and crossed her arms again. She looked angry now.

It was time to come clean for real this time. There was no way he could have kept this up any longer. Not only she was the better-looking one, she was also the smarter one.

"I owed money. And there's a fellow… he offered to wipe away my debt, exchange for you."

Elizabeth brought her hands to her face and begun weeping softly, turning her back to him.

Now you've done it, DeWitt, he thought. He was done with the job, he should have been happy. Before, he would not have given a damn about her crying, but he felt a strange pang of guilt for some reason.

He walked over to her. "C'mon, everything is going to be okay." He began sheepishly. "Will you just turn around and talk to me, and we can-"

He never finished his sentence, just as a big red wrench hit him on the side of his head. He barely raised his hand in defense as girl turned around around with the wrench that was shuffled to her side of the console, sending the agent reeling. She went one step further and threw Booker across the ship with telekinesis, throwing her hands forward as if showing him away.

He hit the floor with a heavy thump and fell unconscious, his last sight that of the angry woman fidgeting with the controls.

He wasn't out for long, but he faded in and out of consciousness only to see Elizabeth get out of the ship. She through him one last resentful look before she abandoned the ship.

He could hear voices. The cheering of the workers outside intensified. What where they doing? They were cheering before, but now they got louder. Something must have happened…

He heard footsteps on the airship floor. But it wasn't Elizabeth. She wasn't wearing boots that now thumped against the floor, she didn't have any company with her either. He got up slowly, but before he could reach for his pistol, he heard a click of a gun being cocked and a female voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, DeWitt."

He then got up slowly, before turning around to face this new obstacle. He couldn't help but groan internally.

He was faced with a black woman, wearing a white shirt and pants with suspenders with a red scarf around her neck and tall boots.

He might have not seen her in person before, but he recalled the statue he's seen in Hall of Heroes.

"You're Fitzroy."

"Nothin' but."

Behind her, a bunch of men filed in to the airship, dressed similarly to her and adorned in red, both on their shirts and their faces. It became apparent that the cheering was for her.

He could hear more airships and people at the docks. Fitzroy lowered her gun and holstered it, but the watch over Booker was taken over by a tall black man, who turned out to be the worker that aided them earlier. He had his shotgun aimed squarely at the Pinkerton.

Another one approached Booker and begun searching him, taking his gun from him and pulling out his paper from his jacket.

The rebel then returned to their leader and handed Fitzroy the papers. She looked at them briefly, flicking through the photos of Elizabeth and Booker's Pinkerton papers.

"So you're the Pink I've been hearing a lot about. You stirred whole lot of trouble down in the park. And I see you're runnin' with their little birdie too."

Now even Fitzroy seemed to know something about Elizabeth - something that still eluded him. Who were 'they'?

"I got no quarrel with you or your Vox Populi, but this is my airship you just walked into and I got perilous need of it." Booker began groggily, still feeling the effects of the blow. His left temple hurt like hell.

"Really? Cause it sure looks like old Comstock's ship to me." Fitzroy replied cockily.

"Hey Daisy" one of her men begun with a heavy Irish accent "that lass, maybe we should take her too? The fancy badge over here could bring her to you. The red woman said she might be important"

Fitzroy turned to her comrade. "If fancy badge helps us, he can take her. She's better off out of Founders' reach. I don't care what she said."

"Listen, I ain't looking for a fight." Booker started up again.

"There's already a fight. Question is, which side you on? Comstock is the king of the white man, the rich man, the pitiless man. But if you believe in the common folk, join the Vox. If you believe in the righteous folk then join the Vox."

She started waving her hand with moves of a practiced orator before slapping her comrades on the back to emphasise. "Do you see the junkies on the streets, hooked on Fink's snake oils? Do you see people going crazy on the streets and being shipped off to the asylum? Do you-"

"I just want my ship." Booker cut her off.

"And the Vox shall give her to you." She took few steps towards him. "But first you must help the Vox. Down in Finkton there is a gunsmith, who can supply weapons to our cause. Get our guns form him and you will have your ship back."

She took out a card and put it in Booker's front pocket. He was still swaying on his feet a bit before Fitzroy took him out with a right hook to his left temple.

* * *

**Development notes:** If there is one thing I have to admit about some sequences in the game, its that its hard to change them. Most of the pivotal moments are done right, like the airship action. Its a perfect blend of story development and another hook that pops up and pulls Booker and Elizabeth back into the city. I adapted it for my own purposes but left it mostly unchanged. Airship appears in the development art for the game at a fairly medium-lat stage, but it appears to be one of the bridging pieces that was built to fill in empty gaps in narrative.  
Crucial change here from my point of view was to get Elizabeth into her blue dress. She seems to be wearing that through bulk of the game in old versions, in addition to wearing it as far back as Finkton in 2011 trailer (also, it was the first reveal of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken"). And besides, who doesn't like her in that dress? Clothing change that was revealed to us in late 2012 is bit of a mystery to me, but most likely it was caused by the rewrite and story changes that forced the change in most characters (like Comstock), while Elizabeth lost her pinky and got covered up. I considered to stick Elizabeth in her original outfit from the start, but I figured that her more modest clothing made sense in the context of her living in the tower since childhood and her being there alone while studied from behind he glass. While it was possible for me to go completely off the rails and go with the barebones idea of what I've seen in 2010, I feel it would be much more of a very loose interpretation of the game based on two or three ideas in making rather than what I aspire to make it, which is a retelling as based on original story pre-rewrite (that is, all of the work and ideas produced up to mid 2012 before major plot shifts happened). After all, not everything was discarded and not every single element was redone several times. I can see the leading structure of the old narrative in the new plot, hence why I am following this sequence of events so far. Major changes will be occurring soon and the rest of the story is markedly different.

I would like to underscore that while I am taking major ideas from the old plot and development , I am a fan fiction writer first of all, so there are large heaps of my own imagination here that glue it all together.


	11. Chapter 11 - Partners?

**Moving on with the story "swiftly". We are at Finkton, and not much looks different, but wait until we get to Finkton proper. More in notes below.**

* * *

**Partners?**

Booker came to consciousness just as he was about to be tossed out of the airship. It was good 40 feet drop or more, he couldn't discern, his head still woozy, but he got tossed out all the same. The shock of being in the air brought him back to full consciousness before he hit the planks of the pier.

He could hear his bones rattle as he fell flat on his back. His shoulder only added to the pain, making his vision go darker for a second. Stomper Nostrum or Shield was of no use to him here – they made him stronger, but he did not land on his feet, neither was he jumping off the skyline. But they helped to pull his body together.

He got up slowly, grunting as he tried to shake off the pain. He was still in Finkton, and not far from the dock where they took the First Lady. The slow beat of a waltz, or was it something else? Booker wasn't sure, but it gave steady pace to all workers, as they scrubbed, polished and hammered in step to the music.

This dock was an interesting place, if only because Fink's face and words were everywhere- on billboards, on projector screens and in the air. Sermons about capitalism and endless labor mixed with the music and the drone of the machines.

"_Now, when someone comes along and tells you, that, you're getting the short end of the stick, do you know what they are really saying? Ha ha, why, they are saying: 'friend, what you do doesn't matter, friend you are being taken for a fool, friend, you're no better than a slave'. Here's what you tell those stuffed shirts, you say: I ain't no slave, I ain't no fool, I am a Fink Man, and proud of it!"_

Booker shook his head. This place was really going to drive him crazy if he stayed her any longer than he would need to. The same could be said of Columbia. And he was back to square one again.

"Better find Elizabeth before she lights out of here" he said to himself. He rubbed his left temple; hit twice in the same spot wasn't a pleasant experience. Fitzroy he understood, she was determined and had her way of doing things. To her, all those who are not with her, must be against. He did not expect such a reaction from Elizabeth though, thinking her naïve. But as it turned out, the girl was no fool either. He'd rather not fall on the foul side of her temper again.

Booker started his slow walk down the pier, avoiding the gaze of policemen and workers, who seemed to ignore the battered agent. He kept thinking about what happened at the airship. In a way, he felt that he deserved it. Now that the truth was out, he did not have to hide anything from her anymore and despite the nasty bump on his skull he did not feel guilty or deceitful anymore. But he still had a job to do, as his papers and the badge reminded him of it.

Somehow, his pockets were still full of money he collected all over Columbia and he stopped at one of the "Dollar Bill" vending machines. He saw couple of them back in New York. Fancy new thing dispensing stamps or cigarettes, but here in Columbia, they dispensed nearly everything. He wondered where they kept all their merchandise. He slotted some coins into the machine and pressed a button for some painkillers. Now he wished he had Elizabeth around, she would find something for him. He doubted he would get back in her good graces again but he had to find her regardless. He took the pills out of the box and swallowed them.

He continued his walk along the Beggars Wharf, as the big sign just below the projector at the top of the warehouse roof made it known. He saw couple of workers in a corridor leading up to another dock, one of them looking at a leaking pipe that ran along the floor and another up on a ladder, cleaning another giant Fink poster, '_Eyes Forward_'.

He approached them, but before he could open his mouth, the plumber already replied.

"Looking for someone? I saw that pretty little thing, prowlin' around here, looking for a passage out."

Even though Booker and Elizabeth were seemingly ignored by everyone around them, they must have stood out a lot, since the man gave up the information so easily and made the connection between Booker and her.

Booker merely nodded in reply and moved along. Elizabeth must have been around here not long ago, so that gave him some advantage. He turned around the corner to follow a platform to another warehouse. However, most of the way was barred by a stack of crashed cargo containers. Apparently two have crashed while being moved around by a crane and both fell onto the platform, one of them still attached to a crane nearby. One of them broke and spilled its contents – crates of some vigor, in milky-white bottles, with a golden screw-top. Most of it was spilled all over the walkway and the ever-present smell of ether that accompanied all Vigors was very strong. Strangely enough, he also smelled bitter almonds.

In front of the spilled product stood a single clerk, noting down the losses and damage on a clipboard. Booker hasn't seen this vigor yet, he was curious about it. Maybe he would be able to get a sample.

The bottles on the ground shimmered and turned into Shock Jockey bottles, before flashing again and turning back into the golden bottles. Booker still couldn't get used to this but the clerk apparently noticed nothing.

The clerk was clearly absorbed by his work and the bottles were strewn everywhere. One of them was untouched, still intact and laying just to the side, out of clerk's vision. Booker walked over to it slowly and picked it up. He looked at the name of the vigor. The bottle was fairly decorative, just as others were with a screw top in a shape of an open hand that projected beams of energy out of the palm. IT didn't tell booker anything.

"Telekine… now what does it do?"

There was only one way to find out, and Booker uncorked the bottle and gave it an experiemtnal sniff. Ether and bitter almonds, just like the spilled bottles.

He took a deep breath and drained the bottle in one go. He started coughing almost instantly, the liquid was bitter and made him nauseous for a brief moment, messing with his head and sense of balance. He looked at his hands – even though his muscles went limp, they floated in the air in front of him.

Booker felt something rise in his stomach, he felt would vomit the vigor up, but the nausea and disorientation stopped. Booker started wondering which one of the Vigors he sampled so far the worst. He knew that this might have not been the last of them.

The clerk reacted to Booker though, upon hearing the bottle dropping and the coughing.

"Hey, what are you doing with the bottles? Who are you?"

Booker couldn't help but groan.

"It's alright pal, I'll be going now."

Booker turned around to leave, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see the face of the clerk, now twisted in the ugly grimace and with golden glow in his eyes and the strange shimmering around him.

Booker game the man a strong shove but the clerk got up quickly with an animal growl.

Booker felt an itch in his hand stretched it forward. The vigor kicked in almost immediately and Booker lifted one of the crates into the air with telekinesis. The afflicted man only turned briefly to the side to see what was happening before Booker threw the crate at him, knocking him out.

Booker smiled to himself. Maybe it tasted foul, but it sure was handy.

Now came the cargo crates themselves. Booker found another bottle and drained it, just to make sure he had enough energy to move the container aside. Despite having tried it once, he still felt nauseous with the other bottle. Maybe drinking one after another wasn't such a good idea.

He fought off the queasiness he felt and tested the vigor out once again. The container itself was too heavy, and it would not budge, but the crane it was still attached to gave way and after a moment of pushing with telekinesis Booker managed to make enough space to wedge himself in and slip between the containers. He wasn't sure that the exercise was of any use, but if the dock worker was right, she took this route in her flight form him.

The warehouse just ahead of him was shut, but there was no lock on the gate, so Booker grabbed the handles and gave them a push to slide the doors apart. Through a slit he heard someone speak.

"Get out of here you little snipe!"

Booker moved the door apart more, and saw Elizabeth. She was thrown off an airship by a man, stumbling to the ground as the man pushed her hard.

"You wanna know what we do with pretty little stowaways? Or maybe you don't."

She fell on the platform as the airship moved away. She stood up, but she noticed Booker as he slid the doors open. She didn't even wait for him to come through, but instead ran off down the warehouse.

"Hey!" he yelled after her. "Hey j- ergh, just stop for a minute!"

"Get away from me! Stay away!"

He ran after her, turning left and right on the walkway. Despite her quick feet, Booker was taller and stronger, pulling off bigger steps. He would have caught her if not for a line of crates that jumped in front of him, moving along rails attached to the ceiling of the warehouse.

There is always something in the way, he thought bitterly as he crawled beneath the crates that hung jut above the walkway. Why wouldn't she listen to him and stop? Because he lied to her and kidnapped her, for all intents and purposes. Of course. But he had to catch her anyway.

He broke into a run again as he was out from beneath the containers and saw her around the corner, still going hard.

"I just want to talk to you!

"I said stay away!"

They kept running, from one warehouse to another with Booker closing in again. Elizabeth pulled another trick from her sleeve, summoning a tear right in front of Booker's nose. It was balloons and confetti, falling in slow motion through the air. Booker waded straight into them, pushing them aside in slow motion too, as if stuck in a jar of honey.

"Ughhh, ELIZABETH!"

The tear disappeared just as the girl moved away and Booker picked up his pace.

"Get away from me!"

The girl kept running and shouting. There was little he could do.

"Just hold up for a minute!" he cried pleadingly after her. "I'm not angry with you!"

He could see her again, but that's when she tossed some crates behind her with her powers, obstructing the way. Little did she know, Booker had a solution to that, shoving the boxes away from his path as he ran with telekinesis.

She kept conjuring up tear after tear, this time a marching band that stepped in front of Booker.

"Hey watch out!" he shouted at them, to no effect as they stepped forward, playing their instruments.

"Move it! Move!" The tear disappeared quickly and Booker continued his pursuit.

"Stay back!" The girl did not relent as she got to a locked gate of an ominous-looking complex, with _Columbia Authority _written just above the doors. But neither of them paid attention.

She started picking at the lock, while Booker was stopped by another tear, this time of a freight train running just past his face.

"Whoah! God damn it!

Just as the tear faded again, Elizabeth had already opened the gate.

"I am not going with you!"

She ran ahead, mindless of her surroundings, looking only for an exit. However, Booker followed her and noticed that they were far from a safe place, as they inadvertently entered a security outpost. As she got to a wall with no exit in sight, she opened up a tear to the other side, stepping through.

"Wait! Don't go in there!" He tried to stop her, but she seemed hell-bent on escaping him.

"I have no need of one such as you!"

That's when two grunts grabbed her as she appeared next to them and the tear closed. Booker could hear them struggle with her.

"We have the girl! Call it in, call it in!"

"No, let me go!"

The voices were muffled as they came from behind the wall, but Booker lost her to the police. He had to act, and fast.

"There's gotta be another way in" he said to himself.

He looked around the room, desks and filing cabinets all around, but in the corner behind a wall he spotted a weapon rack with rifles on it. He picked up one, checked it and made sure it was loaded. He didn't get much chance to use rifles or other army weapons when he was with in Pinks, but it would be a lie if one said that DeWitt could not shoot well. He rummaged through the desks and filing cabinets for a brief moment, picking up ammunition and the odd coin. He followed the door to a pier and outer ring of the fort, hearing the struggle and the desperation of the young woman against the soldiers.

"Requested troops are on their way. Keep a close watch…. A handyman should arrive soon to collect her." The PA system announcer made it clear that Booker had little time left. Not that he was planning to leave her in their hands.

He got up the stairs to a storage area above the courtyard of the fort. There he found a bottle of Devil's Kiss, which he drained quickly. The soldiers were yet to notice him, and he readied a fireball to toss at tow troopers standing below.

"WON'T YOU BE QUIET! My patience is done run out!"

Just across the courtyard, he could see her. Behind the glass, being held by two men, struggling against them. He could hear their talk, their shouts. Then one of them slapped her, and they shoved her to the ground hard.

This made his blood boil. That moment alone reminded him why, despite all the misgivings about the job and the life-threatening situations he stuck with it. He was doing it to sort his own debt out, true, but there was more to it. It was the image of a girl, just as he saw it back in the tower. Being held captive, abused, made less than a person.

He dashed the fireball at a pair of soldiers below, setting them both on fire instantly, before jumping on a skyline that ran above the yard of the fort. Soldiers started spilling from the inside of the fort, but Booker already zipped ahead to the other side and begun laying fire on them from above. One man was zapped and his head exploded like a watermelon when shot with the rifle. Another died a charred corpse as fire from Devils' kiss engulfed him.

A brave couple of troopers joined the Booker on the upper level, but he only gave them a brief glance before lifting them both with Bronco and throwing them off the platform with a crate he lifted with telekinesis, plunging them to their deaths. That's when the requested support arrived, in a form of an airboat, its sentry gun laying fire to Booker's position, accompanied by grenades that flew to Booker with a high-pitched whistle. Booker jumped on the skyline again and circled around, avoiding the mortar and the sentry. He then jumped off to a far end of the courtyard and begun returning fire to the boat. Rifle's range made sure that he would not get hit, and even though the grenadier was armoured in massive plates, it didn't take long to take him out.

The sentry proved to be the worst pain of them all, laying accurate fire as Booker approached it, ducking behind crates and trying to shoot back. There was too much time wasted on wearing it down, So Booker decided to o the quickest thing. He jumped back onto the skyline and started firing with one hand, while the speed of the ride covered him from fire. Normally, he would not do such a thing, shooting one-handed while riding like that was an idiocy. He knew that as a shooter, but sure enough, the nostrum he found not too long ago improved his reflexes and aim while riding on a skyline. But Booker didn't think much of it, but enjoyed its effectiveness as he took the turret out and zipped along back to upper level where Elizabeth was held captive.

He reloaded his weapon and slung it on his shoulder. It was time to rescue the girl again. As he approached the holding cell and slid the doors open, she opened up a new tear, bringing in a skyline, which she used to slip away from Booker. Apparently the girl did not want to be rescued.

"Elizabeth, Wait!" he cried after her, running towards the skyline that shimmered black and white.

"I am not going with you!"

He latched onto it and followed her, the black-and white skyline leading them down to an airboat platform. It seemed that there was nothing that would stop her, not even the fact that Dewitt just saved her skin. His luck, he figured, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her. He was annoyed and exasperated, but he had to get her back.

He jumped off the skyline at the platform and rushed to her, as she stood at the edge of the platform at the departure point.

That's when he felt a massive hand swoop down from above, pushing him back. It sent him back reeling, as his vision went blurry from the blow. He fell and the mechanical construct – a man entombed in a suit of metal, similar to the one he saw displayed at the carnival, jumped off the wall and stood in front of him. It happened too fast for the agent to react; he couldn't reach for the gun or engage any of his Vigors as the Handyman reached out with its enormous oversized hands and grabbed Booker by his coattails. He was still in shock when the monstrosity swung its arm around and flung him far over the edge.

He hit a cargo crate suspended in the air, hanging on the ropes from a crane, as it moved slowly through the air. Elizabeth stood on the boat and moved away from the platform, but Booker could not see it, as he took in the pain of the meeting with the crate, knocking the wind out of him. He hit its side with his hand splayed over the top and he clawed desperately at it to hold on. He managed to grasp the groove at the edge and pull himself up onto the top, but the Handyman was not yet done with him. The crate moved slowly upward, following the boat when the golem tossed a metal disc, cutting the ropes of the crane.

The ropes snapped and sent Booker falling yet again as the container now hung from two ropes on the crane. It still moved up, but there was nothing for him to latch onto. The crate spilled its content of crates and goods and Booker fell alongside them, seeing nothing but jagged points of smokestacks and a sea of dark haze below him.

It was then when felt a cushion. Or at least he imagined he felt a cushion as he had "fallen" onto it. His momentum suddenly slowed down as if he hit a deep, soft mattress and he was suspended in the air. He then started floating upwards, towards the platform where a woman in a blue dress and jacket stood. She glared at him with detestation writ large on her face, he eyes narrowed two slits.

"I saved you, but that does not mean anything. Do not attempt to follow me, Mr DeWitt."

She must have been quite angry, as she had him in the air with her mind alone, no gesture or hand brought forward, no blood from her nose or sweat on her brow. As far as he knew, Booker hung above an abyss on a whim of an infuriated woman. If there ever was a time to be gentle and careful with her, it was now. She turned on her heel and had her back turned to him. He wondered how long she will keep him in the air before her temper cools down or when she gets annoyed enough to drop him.

"Elizabeth, w-wait, I made an arrangement to get our airship back!" Booker begun meekly, trying to sound enthusiastic about what he was about to say.

"You can get us out of here?" She turned around to face him.

"Yes, I just need to supply enough weapons to arm an entire uprising." He trailed off, quite conscious of the ludicrousness of the idea.

Elizabeth took a step back, waving her finger. "And where will we get those weapons? From one of our many friends and allies?" She threw her arms up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"A gunsmith in Finkton. Should be walk in the park. What do you say? Partners?" He was desperate to get his feet on a solid footing.

"You are a liar, Mr DeWitt, and a thug. But you are also my only means of reaching Paris."

She considered her options in front of him, and gave him another upset look before grabbing hold of Booker's hand that he brought forward both in gesture of shaking hands as "partners" but also to get on to the solid footing of the platform. She pulled him in, still in the air and then unceremoniously dropped him on the floor of the platform.

Booker got up and exhaled. Despite the sprains and aches he continued accumulating, he felt relieved.

"Don't get too comfortable with my company, Mr DeWitt. You are means to an end, no more."

The young woman did not hide her continued displeasure. She probably wanted to make sure that he would not get any wrong ideas, most likely because she was so forward with him before. And despite the tone, he could hear a hint of disappointment, that flash of disillusionment in her eyes when she looked at him. He was no longer a knight in shining armour that rescued her, not that he aspired to be one. He told her it was just a thing he did because he had to. But it stung him nevertheless in its own small, frustrating way. He repeatedly told himself he does not care that much, yet here he was mulling over it.

He shook his head to get the restless thoughts out and looked around the platform. It was still Finkton, but not a part that looked as open as the station they came into from the side of Columbia. This place seemed to take people from the surface too, if a gondola leading to a big floating pavilion on the left was any indication.

Despite the apparent removal of Columbia from the surface, the place was crowded with workers and immigrants, all waiting their turn to get inside the "Worker Induction Center", saying goodbyes to their families and friends.

At the first glance the place looked inviting, with its gleaming white-gold façade, happy faces on the posters and the periodic announcements and encouragement from the tycoon himself though the PA. But Booker saw enough strikes on the ground and what Finkton looks like from the side to know that this was just that, a façade.

Booker could see policemen standing around the edges and the doors, looking out carefully, but they apparently ignored them.

The pair quietly pushed though the people standing in front and entered the hall of the induction Center.

They descended a small set of stairs and entered a large hall, with a statue of a happy family in bronze, looking forward to a "Future in Finkton!" Despite the domineering position of Fink as the monopoly holder, Finkton still held a number of other companies and manufacturers, which apparently were associated with Fink or had patents unique enough to avoid being bought out.

But Booker was not interested in any of that, but instead turned to his head to look at an advertisement that Elizabeth pointed at, just on the right of the entrance.

"That would be your gunsmith?" The ad announced that Chen-Lin offered a variety of weapons and maintenance services for guns. The prices looked reasonable too.

"Who sent you to find this person?"

"Daisy Fitzroy" Booker replied without batting an eyelid.

"She's either a great hero or the worst of scoundrels, depending on who's doing the telling." Elizabeth commented in her usual bookish fashion.

"If she's good for an airship, I don't care if she's the Queen of Holland."

Fitzroy wasn't his fight. He didn't care whether she was right or wrong. She was just one more obstacle to be scaled.

They passed into another hall, full of desks, guards, clerks and unemployed alike. There seemed to be some problems as the people seemed disgruntled and the clerks annoyed.

"Sorry sir, but I was led to understand that there was work here. All My forms are in order"

"Be it as it may, we are a t as quota."

"B-But I spent all I had left on a jitney form Baxton-town, sir!"

"Well, were taking on…"

They could se a gate to Finkton at the end of the hall, but the gate was shut tight and police kept out anyone trying to approach it. An automaton behind the glass at the gate repeated the clerks' announcements about lack of jobs and lack of access to Finkton.

They slowly stopped short of entering the crowd at the gate.

"How are we going to get into Finkton?"

"Illegally. Let's look for another way in," he stated. "I am the roughish type am I?" He added jokingly, but Elizabeth only yawned. Booker sighed.

She followed him around to the back of the office space, out of sight of the clerks and the policemen as they started rummaging through the desks and filing cabinets.

Neither of them was sure what they were looking for, but picking up money, Vigor bottles, the odd lock pick and other small stuff gave them some time to get used to each other again. Or rather give her the time. Booker found it ironic that ever since the airship, their attitudes swapped – now she was the reluctant one in their duo.

As they were behind the counter space, Booker couldn't help overhearing a conversation. Unlike ordinary office banter, this one seemed important.

"I'm sick of these illiterate peons, coming over here every day."

"Well, you better hope it's just them and not a bunch of crazies like at Induction Center 19. They tore the place apart. People literally turned mad on the spot. And all had that shine in their eyes."

"I hear you. I bought myself a gun recently, and it's not the Vox I'm worried about…"

They got to another office space, this time locked away.

"Elizabeth?"

"On it."

She worked on the lock without hesitation but the enthusiasm was gone from her voice. No doubt she enjoyed the task but she wasn't showing any of it to Booker anymore.

They entered the office on the far end of the hall and begun looking through items stored there. Strangely enough the place held medical supplies and ammunition. But if the clerk's earlier comment was anything to go by, the city as a whole was growing more unstable. Booker found it unsurprising to see a loaded shotgun stowed away under a desk. He picked it up, checked the ammo and took it with him.

On a desk nearby another Nostrum had found its way to him. Booker took it and looked at it carefully. The label didn't say much about what kind of effect it had, apart from "Pot Luck solution" at the bottom and a list of potential effects. Three of them were made most prominent, with a severe warning about lasting consequences. Unlike other tonics that claimed to be adjustable, this bottle seemed to be of an earlier production run and with little indication to its properties.

"Elizabeth, would you happen to know anything about those?" Booker showed her the bottle, but she only glanced at it briefly before giving booker a short reply.

"No, Mr DeWitt, I do not. Let's just hope it doesn't burn your guts out."

He sighed and drunk it. He shrugged the nasty taste and the queasiness in his stomach before sneaking out of the office. He would learn of the actual effect later, once he was fighting or on the skyline.

They slipped down a flight of stairs to what seemed to be a service area and Elizabeth quickly unlocked it too.

"Over there… a service elevator. Should take us down to Finkton." She pointed to a sign and down to the large room below, just where the elevator was located.

"And get us killed in the bargain" Booker commented as he saw a motorized patriot and a company of guards and policemen looking around carefully. The events of the last few days must have stepped up the security considerably.

Booker took a quick glance around the space yet again and considered sneaking past the policemen and the machine, but it seemed unlikely to be done. There was no space or path for them to hide, but on the other hand, Elizabeth seemed to be willing to fight, be it with her tears or her abilities.

The patriot stood in place in the middle of the room, its gears slowly turning. Luckily, it stood with it back turned to them, as they looked over the open room from the top.

"Booker, do you think you can hit him" Elizabeth whispered as the pointed at the patriot. "I've got an idea. Do you wan me to try?"

"If it makes my job easier, go ahead."

She stood up, made sure that they are not looking at her and put her hands together, aiming at the patriot. A white-gold beam of light shot out of her hands hitting the robot in the back. At first it had no effect, but after a second, the gears got soft as they heated up and the automaton started making unpleasant grinding noise as its inner gears started deforming from heat. That's when Booker leaned out and put a couple of well-placed shots into the weakened gears.

He couldn't get a better result as the patriot exploded in a shower of metal bits and smoke, peppering the guards in shrapnel and sparks. But fireworks had the effect of summoning every living soul into the room. However, Booker was already prepared.

He continued firing on the policemen, who still reeled form the Patriot explosion, and stopped those that assaulted them form the upstairs with a well placed Bronco. He switched to shotgun and brought most of the group down as they floated in the air.

"Booker, on the left!"

Truth was, there were more men around that Booker could have possibly handled at that moment. Some of them noticed Elizabeth and started approaching her. He ran for the stairs to stop the group of men that wasn't taken out by Patriot shrapnel and pushed one of them down the stairs with a hard shove. He stumbled backwards and fell on top of the others, giving Booker the needed space.

But the guards weren't helpless, as they retuned their fire at Booker. He dodged as much as he could, but felt a sharp sting in his right leg; no doubt a bullet cut him there. But they were clumped together, so Booker brought his left hand forward and tossed a fireball down to them, setting them ablaze.

They descended the stairs and Booker finished them off with the shotgun, while Elizabeth did her part by lifting one chair with telekinesis and smashing it on one of the last ones, whose uniform was still ablaze.

They both eased and took deep breaths. While still in sour mood, Elizabeth did not look at Booker with hate anymore. She did not smile, but he could see in her eyes that she eased up on him. If there was one thing Booker knew well from his life in New York, it was that people met in tough places make for quick friends. Besides, if she tried to spite him, they both would be dead. For all of her temperament, she still remained level-headed when situation called for it.

Booker reloaded the shotgun and bent down to look at his leg. He felt more sharp pain as he went on his knee – adrenaline made him oblivious to most of the wounds he took.

Elizabeth quickly took note of that, and without a word brought over a doctor's bag that she saw stowed under one of the tables.

Booker sat down at one of the many desks in the room while she quickly went over to dress his wounds. She still didn't say anything, but Booker wasn't going to push for anything either. He did wonder though: she was hell-bent on Paris, he had to get her to New York. Would she wrench him again once they were back on the airship or would they come to a happy compromise?

"Done." She said flatly and got up. Booker got up too and both of them set about exploring the place. It appeared to be backroom office, with clerk stations as well as a big desk with stacks of papers and a safe behind it by the large window in a separate room. As Booker took to rifling though the desk, taking a Vigor bottle that stood there alongside with money and supplies, Elizabeth's attention was captured by a poster in the corner of the office.

"Gunsmith Chen-Lin… wanted for known connections with the outlaw Daisy Fitzroy."

"Looks like our guy has drawn attention"

"That's not good, is it?"

"No," Booker just about finished pocketing the last of ammunition. He turned around at tapped at the safe behind him.

"Do you think you can do this one?"

"Sure thing."

Booker took part in some fairly shady affairs back in the day and knew about people who cracked safes in banks, but she made it almost effortless. While not too sure on the details, Booker assumed that safes and locked doors differed somehow. But not to her.

The roguish pair emptied the steel box and stuffed their pockets with silver before they set off for the service elevator. Booker pressed the button and the elevator came to life, slowly but surely coming up.

While they waited, Elizabeth wandered off to a nearby locker, opened up ever so slightly. The inquisitive girl took a peek inside.

"Booker, its Slate's locker. He must have worked here."

And surely enough, the locker had the usual military overalls and some patriotic trinkets. But most interesting was a notebook that Elizabeth picked up.

"Slate's diary… it looks like he wrote something about me."

She started reading aloud from the diary.

"The early experiments went awry and Comstock had reservations about locking the girl up, but Fink already saw the profit in it. They both wanted to hide her from Washington's gaze, but after the First Lady died, Comstock lost it and declared total war on Fitzroy. Fink couldn't be happier. The ginger woman told me all about it, no doubt Washington will learn of it soon. But I will be prepared."

She looked distraught as she finished the passage.

"They kept me here, like an exhibit. This whole city, designed to hide me…"

"Elizabeth…" he wanted to say something, but he was lost for words himself.

"I just want to get out of this city, please," her voice was laced with desperation, but she sounded resolute. What the notebook stated explained a lot of what Booker already gleaned from the assaults and the notes. There were too many people interested in her; there was no way they could slip out of this without a bigger scrap. But they had to try.

They heard a short bell and the lift opened up as it arrived. Road to Finkton was open.

* * *

**Development notes:** Most of the sequence here was executed perfectly in the game - Elizabeth/Booker interactions and relationship evolving from a simple rescue into a more complex partnership. And as all relationships, friend or partner alike, must have some rocky spots. I do however hitn at wider stroy development here.

One important introduction that will definitely please everyone is the Telekinesis vigor - I decided to reintroduce it here as a replacement for the Charge and Undertow Vigors we saw in the game. Because honestly, who did not like Telekinesis? It also replaces Return to Sender, but don't worry, I can promise you bullet-stopping with telekinesis when the time comes. We saw the early demo had it and the ini. files still internally refer to some of the vigors with old names, Telekinesis among them. Bucking Bronco is an exception, due to its crowd control use and effect is alike to Tornado Trap from the old Bioshock and as such has no connection with Telekinesis.


	12. Chapter 12 -Offer of a Lifetime

**Sorry for a long delay, but things have been happening and time got scarce. Anyway, without a further ado, let's see what happened in Finkton.**

* * *

**Offer of a Lifetime**

They stepped into the elevator and Booker pressed the button to descend into Finkton. The machinery came to life and the doors closed behind them. The lift started moving down and they both silently stood there. Neither seemed to have anything to say after this revelation.

Fink and his propaganda however, were ever-present.

"_Greetings! My name is Jeremiah Fink, and I want to share with you my personal creed. __What is the most admirable creature on God's green Earth? Why, it's the bee! Have you ever seen a bee on vacation? Have you ever seen a bee take a sick day? Well, my friends, the answer is no! So I say, be... the bee! Be the bee!_"

The lift stopped abruptly just as the propaganda piece was over. They heard ringing, coming from the intercom on the side.

Booker pressed the button the speaker to respond. He was puzzled.

"Umm… hello?"

"Mr DeWitt?" a female voice asked.

"Uh, yes?"

"Hold for Mr Fink, please."

Elizabeth was just as intrigued as Booker was, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaned in to the speaker besides him.

"What's going on?" she asked him, but a male voice now came up though the intercom.

"DeWitt? Fink here. Listen my boy…we've had our eye on you and I can tell you right now that I have a deal of a lifetime for you!" The industrialist sounded enthusiastic.

"Now, my associate, Mr Flambeau will help you with anything you need, ha ha."

The intercom went silent.

"What the hell was that?" Elizabeth couldn't hide her disbelief.

"I have no idea."

"He seems oddly pleased to make your acquaintance."

Booker was baffled after hearing Fink. What could he possibly want from them? As for a "deal of a lifetime" he strongly suspected what it was all about. Fink was one of the men that ran this city and Elizabeth's escape could not have gone unnoticed. He started wondering how much they would offer him for her. One thing was sure; the girl's talents were priceless.

The lift resumed its descent as soon as Fink was done talking and as it progressed downwards, they were greeted by the image of men being woken up by a giant clock on a wall, running and then lining up for work at the said clock. Fink's propaganda was streamed across the entire place constantly, reminding people of the virtues of tokens being paid instead of cash and their value for "Fink worker".

The lift reached its destination and the doors opened. They stepped out and were greeted by man, whom Booker assumed to be Flambeau. The man looked elegant, a bit too much even. A double-breasted suit jacket with a large boutonnière, big tie and long, carefully styled hair parted into two down the middle. In other words, a fop. Booker did not like this type. They seemed more dishonest to him than the usual runts in various dens and watering holes. However, he did accept this job from just the type before and his expectations were not let down. The only difference between them was the color of their suits, but both had the same passionless, precise look on their face.

"Mr Dewitt, Miss Elizabeth, welcome to Finkton." Flambeau spoke with calm, emotionless voice. He moved with his hand towards a table standing next to him, laden with various items.

"You will find a variety of supplies here that should see you through your visit."

Booker approached it and looked at the said supplies. He immediately noticed a gun in a custom box. He took it out and inspected it carefully. Customized Colt Navy, large caliber, lot of special work and engravings on it. He liked the weight of it in his hand and it was balanced nicely when he aimed it at the wall. It would be a fine replacement for his own pistol that he lost on the First Lady. Next to it stood few bottles of various Vigors and a purse full of silver coin.

"What does Mr Fink want with us?" Elizabeth seemed anxious to find out as she directed her words at the overdressed man.

"I'm sorry, young miss, but I'm not at liberty to discuss Mr Fink's private business he has with the gentleman."

"But why..."

"I'm sorry Miss Elizabeth, but all questions should be directed to Mr Fink in person."

He turned to Booker.

"Fortunately, he wants to see you both, especially Miss Elizabeth. He insisted on her presence when you meet him, Mr DeWitt."

Flambeau retrieved a personal card and handed it to Booker, with Fink's address and position on it.

For all his apologies, Flambeau was as emotive as a mannequin. But Fink was one generous man, if the saw fit to give away so much to Dewitt just because he wanted to see him. Except, Booker wasn't fooled; Fink was probably richer than any one in New York or Columbia itself, this was small change for him compared to what the girl was worth.

Flambeau took a step to the side and the big gate behind him opened. Finkton, it all of its glory was in front of them.

"Does this strike you as good news? It doesn't strike me as good news." Elizabeth commented as they walked outside.

Definitely not good news, she was right.

Ahead of them was a busy Finkton street, bustling with people, trams, carts and far-away whistles of steam machines. The place was positively abuzz, and in the distance one could see another of the many golden figures of Fink, standing in front of a massive skyscraper complex, the work clock and giant _Fink Mfg_ symbol above on the buildings. The plaza itself connected several areas with gondolas and platforms constantly floating towards and disconnecting from it. It was probably easy to say that Finkton probably made up half of the whole floating city.

"Any idea where are we headed? Do you want to look for supplies now or should we head for the workshop?" Elizabeth enquired as she looked at the street and the people.

"What about Fink?" Booker asked questioningly.

"I-I don't want to go there Booker. I don't like how this deal sounds."

Booker thought briefly about Fink ands potential offer. Here was a chance to end this job. I an hour or two, he would be a free man, walking away form the assignment, back to New York and…

What after that? And he already saw what they wanted from her or how they treated her back in the tower. The girl needed help. Doubts about the whole job begun creep back, about what they wanted from her and what was he hired for. He looked at Elizabeth's worried face, unwilling to hear Booker's inevitable reply.

"Well, we won't know until we find out." She looked at him apprehensively, the disillusionment he was hoping to banish was back again in her eyes.

"Elizabeth, this might be just a job for me, but part of it is to make sure you are safe. I won't let them lay a finger on you if something isn't clear."

She only sighed and followed Booker quietly with a sullen face. They descended into the buzz of the town, pushing past workers and poor as they headed towards the gates of Fink Company Tower, which appeared to be a central building of the massive complex up ahead.

As they walked down the streets of Finkton Proper, they noticed many things that they haven't noticed before. Work was unending; the drone of machines was constant but there seemed to be no respite for workers in the factory halls or workshops. As they moved towards Fink's office past the clock tower, they saw the strangest thing yet.

Just below the clock a giant board was attached to a wall with a list of potential jobs that people bided for. It looked like regular auction with speaker thumping his hand on the lectern of the dais, while workers crowded just below, shouting over each other.

"…Can someone give me fifteen!? I hear fifteen... fourteen… twelve and a half from a gentleman in the grey cap…"

Elizabeth stopped to observe the "spectacle".

"What are they doing?"

"It's a job lottery" Booker replied dourly.

"What are they bidding with?"

"Their own time."

They stepped away as soon as a scuffle between two competing workers broke out in the crowd. The show was over.

DeWitt's answers were always short, but to the point. It didn't take much for Elizabeth to understand what he said, or how he said it. She both appreciated but also dreaded this bluntness. The world outside was beautiful, but there was just as much ugly in it. His brusque manner did not mean he was always honest, she could see that. But Booker DeWitt didn't seem like a man capable of holding big secrets; she could read his green eyes just as easily. All she saw now was uncertainty. It was small relief against the impending sense of dread that came with Fink's Tower as they approached it. He wouldn't give her up, she hoped.

They left behind the industrial plaza and followed the path towards the commercial section of the town, where Fink and various smaller companies had their offices and administration, alongside the more respectable workshops like jewelers and clock makers. It reminded Booker of Manhattan, with its tall brick buildings, opulent architecture and American flags waving proudly over doors and roofs in the high winds of Columbia. The all-present visage of Fink sealed his dominion over the place, either on posters or in bronze. There weren't many workers here, but police presence was heavier than anywhere else.

It wasn't hard to reach the checkpoint at the entry to Fink's tower, and their entry was made easier by the business card from Flambeau. Even though they were wanted, Finkton seemed to run on its own rules to an extent, so they only received hateful stares. They stepped inside and made their presence clear to the attendant at the entry hall, who ushered the pair through the corridors straight into the elevator that was headed for Fink's office.

It was apparent that Elizabeth's fears were far from over.

"Are you going to accept his deal?" She twirled her thumbs, not looking Booker in the eye.

"I don't even know what the deal will be."

"Isn't it obvious?" she spoke up with a hint of sarcasm, looking up from her fingers.

"Well, there is a reason for it." He paused briefly before asking his own question. A question he should have asked earlier and one that would have explained a lot about why everyone wanted her.

"How do you that …whatever it is?"

"You mean the tears? And my powers? Well, do you remember how I said I had plenty of time to read?" Well, I tried to figure it out. I read literature on physics and other such things."

Booker chuckled. "Yeah, and what did that teach you?"

"That there is a world of difference between what we see and what is."

That much was true of the real world, or at least the world Booker inhabited. Each case he got as a detective operated on that principle, yet he never considered that the world itself- matter and reality- were subject to it too. The girl's value grew by the hour and the agent was growing more and more perplexed by the choices he faced. This problem could not be solved by drawing his faster.

The elevator arrived at the top floor and they both stepped out. The top floor was mostly made up of a lobby, where a secretary behind a desk waited on people who wanted to see Fink. Behind her, a big double door led to Fink's office. Booker and Elizabeth were taken aback to see Flambeau waiting by the door.

"Mr Fink is expecting you," Flambeau did not break the monotone of his voice.

He pushed the doors aside. They entered a large, richly decorated office. Fink did not spare the expense on his statues outside, and the interior of his office was no different.

Behind a heavy desk they found a mustachioed man in a suit.

"Ha ha, DeWitt, my boy!" The man stood up. "I'm glad you could make it. Ah, and you brought Elizabeth here too. My my, aren't you the prettiest white girl in Columbia?"

Fink was jovial and beaming, smiling from ear to ear as he engaged them. Whether he was really happy to see them or was this merely a salesman's trick, it did little to ease the sense of worry that they both felt. Elizabeth was uncomfortable and Booker knew too much about world to expect anything good out of this.

"What's your deal, Fink?" he asked roughly.

"Straight to the point! I like the cut of your jib, DeWitt. Very well." Fink walked over to a drink cabinet on the side of the room.

"Whisky, Mr DeWitt?"

"I'm fine; can we just get to the point?"

Fink poured himself a glass and returned to his desk.

"I see that you are a determined man, DeWitt, and I know all about your troubles. I can offer you to pay your debt off and give you the same amount upfront in cash to top it off. " he nonchalantly pointed with his hand at Booker.

"What's the catch?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" Fink kept up his jolly attitude. "As I said, I want to make it easy for you with your debt, which includes that job of yours. I will take our little missy off your hands and make sure she's safe." He flashed his teeth and glanced at Elizabeth, who so far stood silently by Booker's side.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Her answer was almost instantaneous to Fink's remark.

"Lets not be so hasty-" Fink did not relent.

"Whatever you are selling, I'm not buying," Booker cut him off sharply. "As for the deal, I'll get back to you on that."

Booker and Elizabeth turned around and started their walk out of the office.

"Don't be too quick to dismiss my offer DeWitt!" he called out after them. "You know where to find me, and I can find you easily enough too." Fink's voice went low, almost to a growl by the end of his sentence.

They walked past indifferent Flambeau, who shut the doors behind them and gave them a respectful nod.

"Good day Mr DeWitt. Miss Elizabeth."

They stepped back into the elevator and begun their ride down.

"Are you going to 'get back' to him with the deal?" Elizabeth was as tense as she was back in the office.

"No."

She probably expected more, but he wasn't going to spill his guts to her. He felt he was way too involved with her anyway, but then he recalled Monument Island. He couldn't leave her to the wolves.

"Well, I'm glad you are keeping our part of the bargain." She was visibly relieved, with her cheery spark coming back to her voice.

They got out of the Fink Tower and were back on the streets. Booker pulled out Chen Lin's card and looked at the address.

"We will have to make our way to the workshops on the other side of the main square."

"Well, what are we waiting for Mr Dewitt?! Let's go!"

Booker only smiled to himself as he heard her. He would miss that attitude once this job was over.

They moved past workers faster now, confident in their goal and with Elizabeth's urging to move quicker. They had to stop once to ask for directions, but gunsmith was apparently well-known in Finkton and they obtained directions easily. However, Booker noticed that when question about gunsmith came up, they received some nervous looks. Something was off.

Elizabeth pointed at a sign in the distance.

"Here it is Booker. Chen Lin, Gunsmith."

They approached the shop, a double door leading them into a plain interior with a counter and a table, both laden with tool boxes and papers. The shop was empty.

"Let's check inside."

Booker walked towards the back door. While the front was pretty small, the workshop was pretty sizeable, with a large furnace feeding the steam machines upstairs, crates of supplies stacked on the sides and a large wooden staircase leading to the top, where hum of the equipment could be heard.

Still, it was hard for Booker to believe that Chinaman like Chen Lin could own his own shop. Man must have friends, or do a damn good job with his tools. Probably both, he thought to himself.

Booker picked up a bottle of Devil's Kiss that stood nearby the open furnace; no doubt Lin was using it to start the fire. Gunsmith had some spare ammunition too, and Elizabeth picked out a lost coin from between the floorboards which she promptly tossed to Booker. While before he thought that Elizabeth might have qualms about exploring and supplying him with items scavenged in other people's houses or shops, she seemed perfectly at ease with it. They were becoming a roguish pair quickly. His necessity and her desperation seemed to take priority over any moral barriers.

They followed the stairs upstairs and came across a small shrine on the mid-level. Silk drapes over wooden frame end candles lit around a stone idol looked distinctly oriental.

"I've read about this. It's Gautama Buddha" Elizabeth voice carried mild excitement at her find.

"Who?" Booker as usual was the less knowledgeable one.

"The founder of Buddhism. They say he spent 40 days under a bodhi tree until he achieved enlightenment."

"Are you sure you didn't eat those books instead of reading them?" Booker asked

jokingly.

"I probably would if it was faster than reading."

"Well, something tells me that locals don't take kindly to foreign idols. Or foreigners themselves." Booker commented with an afterthought.

They got to the top floor and were submerged in the droning noise of the machinery that filled the room.

"Hello, Mr Lin? Chen Lin?!" Booker called out loudly over the noise. Elizabeth walked past them, looking around just as Booker moved to the other side.

"Is anybody here?"

While the machinery still worked, lot of the kit appeared to be gone: worktops were raided, tools were missing and only broken scraps were left behind.

"What happened here?" Elizabeth asked with concern. She trusted Booker to do the deductions now.

"Someone worked the place over. Local constabulary, no doubt."

"Booker, look at this." Elizabeth showed Booker a card.

"It was on one of the tables. It stood out, probably was meant for someone who would come here after Lin."

"That would be us," he remarked.

_DeWitt, if you want to save the Chinaman, head straight for Fink Theater. I hope you reconsidered my offer, I added an extra bonus. You will find out more when you arrive for the show. Bring me the girl and wipe away the debt_

_ J.F_

"Looks like we were beat to the punch." He was annoyed, but at the last sentence he felt a flash of hot and cold wash over his body in quick succession.

Elizabeth looked puzzled however. "This can't be right. Sure, we had to make our way here, but how did Fink know where were we headed?"

"There's only one place where we can find out. Lets find that theater."

They descended downstairs and to their shock, the Buddha shrine was gone, replaced with a picture of Virgin Mary,

"What the.." Booker could only scratch his head.

"They are everywhere…" Elizabeth was equally puzzled.

They didn't spend much time marvelling at the mysterious disappearance of Buddha, which only confirmed their fears about tears.

They left the workshop and started their walk back in the direction of the plaza.

However, they didn't get far.

In the distance, rumbling could be heard. It wasn't a sound of a factory machine or a train however, and Booker noticed that despite it being middle of the day, the workshops they saw previously busy with people were now vacated, just like animals before a tornado vacate the plain, he recalled from his army days, He braced for the worst and his instinct wasn't wrong.

"Booker, a Handyman!"

The name was appropriate for the inhuman melding of man and a machine, a living person and its organs embedded in a grotesque automaton with oversized animatronic hands. However, this handyman was different from the one that nearly killed him at the docks – this one had a mustache and parted hair on his head, as well as remnants of a tattered suit on him, unlike the rags that wrapped the shell of the other one.

"Get Back!" Booker shoved Elizabeth behind him and pulled out his Colt. It was time to see if the gun was worth anything. The handyman dropped from the rooftop of a workshop few feet away from Booker and let out a terrible yell.

"DEWITT!"

Booker never fought with something this big, and knew nothing about its potential weak spots but he stood unfazed, he knew that to show fear would be the end of him.

He aimed his gun and let out couple of shots at the golem, who merely lifted his hand to shield himself from the bullets. The revolver had quite the kick and Booker felt it in his wrist and the gun left few dents in the handyman's hand.

The handyman was on the offensive as it took a step forward and slammed its fists into the ground in an ape-like fashion. Then it lunged at Booker, throwing its fist at him. Booker lurched back and dodged the punch, but the handyman moved with speed that belayed its hulking appearance and followed with another. It missed the agent by a width of a hair, as he felt the ceramic fist brush against his coat.

Booker fired a Jockey bolt that briefly halted the handyman, who did not expect Vigors and Booker ran back further. Elizabeth was already out of sight, hiding behind a stack of crates and observing the fight.

The handyman slammed its fist on the ground again and with a awful cry threw a slow-moving electric bolt. While slower than then a normal arc of electricity, it still moved with a speed of an arrow and Booker had hard time dodging it, feeling his hair rise from the static as it passed him. He kept backing away and probing for a weak spot with his continued shots, with only enraged the handyman further.

It took a leap forward and closed in with DeWitt, who almost instinctively threw a firebomb at the handyman and tumbled away, engulfing its's rags in fire. Pained shouts could be heard and Booker could finally reload before continuing with his barrage. This time, he aimed for the exposed front, with handmyan's organs floating inside. This seemed to hurt as the handyman jerked back and started coughing while covering his chest with his hand to protect it.

As his coughing fit passed, the handyman picked up a steel beam that was lying in a pile on the side of some workshop and handling it like a javelin, threw it at Booker. He caught it in mid-air with his telekinesis and this is when Elizabeth joined in from her cover, clasping her hands together and heating the metal with a ray of energy. As she did it, the beam started glowing hot orange.

"Booker, throw it now!"

He didn't expect it have much effect, but telekinesis seemed to counter the strength of handyman's throw and the beam flew with the same speed back at him. It hit him hard, damaging his right arm and enraged him further, but it was visible he was weakened. The handyman turned his eyes to the person that dared to help DeWitt.

While damaged, the handyman took another enormous leap to where Elizabeth was and knocked the crates apart with his good hand. She stood there petrified while Handyman raised his hand at her. Booker ran straight at him, shooting and paralyzing him with another Jockey bolt, which got his attention. Elizabeth stumbled backwards while Booker approached the automaton, who swiveled around and knocked Booker back with his hand.

He hit the pavement with wind knocked out of him. Booker's vision went blurry. But he still could see and was conscious. It was a miracle he was alive, he thought to himself. Booker stood up, wincing and noticed Elizabeth who was now struggling with the monstrosity. She desperately threw one item after another with her telekinesis – barrels, tools, anything she could lift in the air with her power, but most of those bounced away harmlessly, either not big or strong enough to make an impression. But they were a good distraction, and Booker ran for the handyman once again, this time waiting to get closer. He charged up all of his remaining Shock Jockey and threw the attack up close, paralyzing the handyman and then shot him several times up close in the back of his exposed head.

The handyman dropped with a heavy thud and lay motionless for a brief moment before electrical buzzing and sparks started flying from it. They both took few steps back and a small electric explosion engulfed the downed handyman.

Booker took a deep breath as he eased up and massaged his chest in the place where he was hit. Even though he was tapped only once during that fight, it was enough to make him feel as he had gone though a bar brawl.

Elizabeth approached him, equally shook, but relief was visible on her face.

"I don't care much for you Mr DeWitt… but I must admit, you know your way around a brawl."

It was a mixed compliment to hear from her, but he was already getting a better treatment than one could expect from someone he tried to sell.

Booker reloaded his gun and they begun their walk back towards the main plaza. Elizabeth seemed to have more on her mind to say as she looked at Booker tentatively.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier…. Calling you a thug."

Booker smirked. "I don't see how I might have changed your mind."

"You protected me."

For all her mischievous attitude, Elizabeth wasn't a good liar. She did care, or at least started to trust him again. And it wasn't only the Handyman just now, but also Fink and his offer that she dreaded so much. She wanted to be free, and Booker DeWitt was her only way out. But did she care because he was her escape or was there something else to it? He tried to imagine it was the former.

"Job's a job" he replied dryly. "And please, call me Booker."

Whatever fantastic notions she might have harbored about him and the rescue, or he could have had about her, the agent decided to suppress those thoughts in his mind and think about neither.

"Intentional or not, a good deed is still a good deed Booker." Her last words sounded as if they were an afterthought, but the young woman seemed insistent on making her point. It didn't make it any easier for Booker to ignore his thoughts.

* * *

**Development notes:** Finkton as an area was always presented as a mixture of sprawling industrial activity and expansive slums underneath, and while the game tries to show it as such, the actual areas that we get to explore are fairly small. In my attempt to recreate that sense of expansive and explorable game, I decided to follow the old game art and designs and make Finkton bigger spatially. Booker and Elizabeth have to cross some streets and alleyways, squeeze past workshops and ask people for directions. In addition, they meet Fink who is after more than just Booker, in line with the emphasized Founder-Vox-Elizabeth triangle. Apart from the worker areas and factories, Finkton also seemed to host white-collar jobs and places, with gleaming facades and high-rise offices. All of the above can be seen in the 2011 game trailer, which also featured "Will the Circle be Unbroken" for the first time.


	13. Chapter 13 -The Show is About to Begin!

**Wow, this was a long piece. I took my time here and I've been working on this for a bit, even during writing of part 12. I attempted to flesh out some things, improve language and overall try to make it sound readable.I have noticed one thing being repeated constantly over and over again, and I know you guys won't rest until you see it - will they or will they not get together? Now ,this time around, I want you to predict, based on the things I wrote about them so far. Lets see if you can spot the clues I'm dropping. If enough people guess correctly I might confirm it. I will adjust the description of the story too, because everyone seems aching for it.  
Lastly, I wanted to tell you that I am editing all of the chapters from the start ever so slowly, fixing typos, making language flow better and improve the style, but with no major changes to plot or events. You do not have to feel compelled to reread everything because I added one plot-relevant thing somewhere - I won't and If I do, I will tell you where and when. With that said, lets dive back in! Notes at the end as usual.  
**

* * *

**The Show is about to Begin!**

They were silent and furtive on their way back to Finkton Plaza. Elizabeth was not as upbeat as she was just after leaving Fink's office, but she did not seem angry at Booker anymore. While before she would cross her arms and give him an evil eye or a snappy remark, now she was back to her kinder self. Or at least would be, if not for the handyman attack. She was sullen and quiet, while Booker's gaze shifted from left to right to the top, making sure another ambush wasn't waiting behind the corner.

Booker still felt the impact of the metal fist in his bones, but he learned to live with such injuries and swallow them without complaining. His injury was the least of his worries. It was clear that Fink wasn't playing around, and that DeWitt wasn't as important as he was constantly led to believe. Not that Booker ever had any delusions about himself. But if by "bonus" he meant wave after a wave of thugs and automata to kill him, he would have to do better. Not to mention, Booker had one heck of an ally on hand. He probably would not get as far without her as he did.

The girl continued to puzzle him. Not only that, she was more of a mystery now than when he saw her for the first time behind that glass in the tower. It was obvious she was no ordinary woman, and there was no telling what else she was capable of or why was she like that. But there was more to it. Her quirky attitude to the world in one moment and bookish intelligence in another, her genuine kindness to others when exposed to suffering, but she wouldn't be taken for a fool when pressed. The more things he noticed about her, the harder he fought to keep them under the lid. He didn't need it now and the job would be completely scotched if he allowed himself a decision in the matter.

He broke out of his thoughts as they arrived back at the plaza. Now, among the workers Booker noticed the gleam of rifle barrels and the cumbersome shapes of grenade launchers. He instinctively moved his hand and lay it on the revolver. Elizabeth turned to him as she noticed his expression turn into a scowl.

"Where to now?"

"Theater, but Fink expects us to go in there straight away, and the stations will be watched." Booker looked around the large square, with the Transit station in the distance. As he suspected, two uniformed guards held watch under the wrought iron gate of the station.

"We need a way around if we want to avoid another ambush." he stated.

They decided to abandon the plaza and circumvent watched roads and make their way through factory corridors and access alleyways. The shine and orderly atmosphere of Finkton Plaza were slowly peeled away as they saw people working tirelessly with every possible thing done to keep them working: secure gates, clocks and posters as well as police on every corner. Their path was filled with rhythmic thunk of hammers and tools along conveyor belts, the hum of looms spinning their threads and people working in the dimly lit, dusty halls.

"They aren't happy here, are they?" Elizabeth commented sadly as she watched blank stares of workers operating the machinery with joyless efficiency.

"I don't think anyone would be. But at least they will let us pass without trouble."

"I wish there was something we could do for them."

She had a heart of gold, he could tell. She couldn't stay mad at him for too long and sight of these people depressed her. It was a gut-wrenching sight for the agent, both them and her. These folks did deserve better, the girl was right, but for Booker DeWitt, this was merely another fact of life. An ugly fact that he wished she would not have to see.

_...I'm no fortunate son..._

In one of the empty factory halls, they heard strange music. As they approached its source, the music appeared to be emitted from a reddish tear. The phenomenon appeared as common as things phasing in and out of reality all around Columbia.

"I've never heard this song before." Booker couldn't hide his astonishment.

"I doubt anyone has heard this song before". Elizabeth appeared to be just as taken aback. "I think tears are more than just wish fulfillment."

"That explains how Fink managed to find out about Chen Lin." Booker immediately connected the dots. He hated the thought of having his future predicted. There was something to it, the same dreadful fear he felt when he heard the man's words back in his office.

Storage areas and warehouses behind the factory buildings held some supplies. Booker reloaded his shotgun and Elizabeth tossed him a Shock Jockey and Bucking Bronco bottles she found. It was bizarre to find so much weaponry in a single city, but if Peking was anything to go by, Columbia was more than just an American showpiece.

They left the central are behind with Fink's headquarters behind their backs in the distance when they made it to another large street.

"There is it Mr DeWitt." Elizabeth pointed at the large building in front of them..

The building was tall and wide, with posters advertising both shows and drinks. Its massive front hosted a big "Fink Theater" sign above the entrance, with golden glow of the lights and the metal of the structure, along posters of 'best shows in town'. It resembled the front of many-a place on Broadway, no doubt designed to invoke the that feeling of a large stage, if it wasn't bigger than anything Booker saw in New York. Apart from bargain tickets at 5 cents a piece that could be found on a huge poster board right to the entrance, a giant poster advertising Rosie Rickford's "Magical Might" on the right or "Zorro" on the left side, with Harry Carey's "Hearts Up" just above the entrance. Booker did not know any of the names on the posters or the shows. Regardless, cheap tickets and cheap drinks dominated and enticed workers to sped their money here.

Elizabeth looked at the theater with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. She never saw a live performance in her life, but the danger waiting inside dampened the atmosphere of entertainment. Booker looked at the theater with similar sense of worry, but he did not betray any fear. He already saw the worst that Fink could throw at him. He made sure that the revolver was loaded and that his shotgun was there.

"Now just need to head inside and find Chen Lin… and call me Booker."

They walked up to the entrance and stepped through the double doors of the theater.

The wide corridor led them to a large lobby, with a staircase on each side and a set of double doors below that led to the interior of the club. Booker imagined the place to be dingier, but Fink apparently meant it when he advertised this place as a reward for good workers, with rich red wallpaper and green carpets, all complimented by hard-wood finish of the staircases and the floor. Surely enough, two bronze Finks could be found there too, flanking the sides of the entry hall.

Just by the lower doors to the interior, an automaton encased in glass came to life as Booker and Elizabeth approached..

_Welcome to Fink Theatre, sir or madam, where lions roar! The show is about to begin!_

"Ah DeWitt, my boy, you finally made it!" Fink's voice was reverberating through the building, being transmitted through the speakers installed on the walls. He sounded jolly as usual.

"You know, it would have been a terrible shame if a man like you didn't make it here, ha ha," he carried on talking as if nothing happened. "You know, the best kind of interview is one where applicant doesn't know he's being evaluated!" his cheery laughs punctuated his speech, but to Booker it was all an act.

"I've had my eye on you ever since you came to Columbia and I must say, you're brute! And in times like these, I could use a brute."

"What do you want Fink?" Booker growled in reply.

"Why, I made you a deal DeWitt! I know you weren't exactly satisfied with it," Booker looked at Elizabeth, who listened to the exchange with apprehension,

"Which is why I decided to give you a better one."

Booker suspected that this was never the case; it was normal for people like Fink to draw you in with a bad deal only to 'make it up' with a better one, which was in effect the one thing they wanted all along. But Fink droned on.

"Now, Fitzroy has the jungle all riled up. A man like me could have use of an old Pinkerton like you. Of course, you will get money for the girl too."

But the old Pinkerton did not reply and only sneered at the suggestion.

He took out the hand cannon and followed the stairs up, with Elizabeth following him with her quick little steps.

He kicked the doors open and they found themselves on the upper level of the main theater hall. At the first glance, the place looked empty, with only few lamps and illuminating dark interior.

"Lets find Chen Lin and get the hell out of here." Booker was eager to get this done quickly. But the proprietor clearly had something else in mind.

The stage lit up as the headlights were turned on and a projector screen descended in front of the stage. Fink's face appeared on the projector screen.

"Now now, all I ask is that you finish what you started DeWitt! Wouldn't want to disappoint other applicants!"

Booker swore quietly to himself, just out of Elizabeth's earshot, who stood at the balustrade and observed the entire hall.

"Booker, there are several tears in here. Tell me which one you want and can help you."

"Thanks. I'm sure Fink will be interested in seeing it." he said sarcastically.

I don't mind showing off," she replied cockily. "If he wants me, he has to get through you first!"

Ain't she an angel, he thought to himself. However, her company did lift his spirits enough to get on with the gloomy task of battling through whatever Fink had set up.

"Our first candidate is a veteran of Peking…" Fink continued his self-absorbed 'interview' with DeWitt. "Now, what is it that they say about 'old soldiers'? Ha ha ha ha… frankly, my money is on you! He's something of an old hand at handling explosives. Only one I know that hasn't - heh heh - lost a limb working with them. Yet."

The projector screen rolled up and the stage curtains opened up. A stream of armed goons ran out and holed themselves up between tables and bar booths set up all across the lower level in front of the stage.

Last in the group was a large man in an old uniform, akin to what Slate's veterans were wearing, except large part of his body was encased in heavy metal plates and fireproof padding. His hands glowed with Devil's Kiss and his armor appeared to be emitting large amounts of heat, air around him steaming and sizzling as he walked. His face was closed off by a heavy helmet with a mask, on it several vertical slits like a grill of a stove completing the effect.

He didn't bother exchanging any pleasantries with DeWitt, instead opting to toss a large fireball at him as he took the stage with a battle cry.

"BURN!"

Booker and Elizabeth dodged for cover behind a large panel as the fireball exploded where they stood a mere moment ago. Booker didn't wait for them to come to him and popped out of cover to shoot at the men hiding below. The hand cannon proved a devastating weapon, as it killed at good range with but one or two shots. Another fireball flew to Booker and he ran to his left for more cover. He didn't bother telling Elizabeth anything or giving her commands, save for which tear to bring in. By now, she acquired that rare but important skill of staying low in almost all conditions and somehow managed to stay close behind him most of the time. This was no different, with her hunkering down behind the column to his right.

But the fireman kept Booker out of cover, flushing him out with another grenade and directing the goons, who crept up the stairs to the upper level from both sides. Booker rushed ahead and dispatched another two with solid shots to the chest as he moved to the far end on the left and took cover behind a counter.

"Booker! On the right!" Elizabeth yelled from her cover and DeWitt noticed a group of three more goons running up the stairs, trying to flank them. Elizabeth already ran for the bar that was just to the right of the doors they came through and dived behind the counter. Booker got up and ran for the position to his right, trying to get to Elizabeth. The infernal veteran had other ideas however, as he kept up his flaming barrage. This time however, Booker stretched out his hand quick, just as the fireball was few inches away form his palm, sizzling in the air. The telekinesis apparently worked on projectiles too as it seemed, and the agent returned it to sender.

The fireball splashed on the head of the surprised fireman. It didn't do much harm to him, but it dazed and disoriented him enough to let Booker get to the bar, where Elizabeth was already taking care of things.

She stood up, facing the three men and raised both her hands. With sweeping a motion, she lifted in the air every single bottle and glass that stood on the bar shelves and the counter. She saw Booker approach in the corner of her eye and gave him a small nod before hurling the mass of glass and alcohol at the thugs.

"Booker, now!"

He already had a shotgun in his hand and blasted the swarm of bottles that surrounded the men. Shards of glass and alcohol mixed with the buckshot as they tore them apart. Damn good shot if not for the wasted booze, Booker thought for a second.

"BURN, YOU TRAITOR!" a yell could be heard from lower level, closing in on them.

Last man remained, approaching them with quick heavy thuds, as his armor clanked and the air grew hotter as he approached. But Booker was ready to meet him. He descended down the stairs, and before the fireman managed to toss another explosive ball in Booker's face, he lifted him in the air with Bronco. The veteran's muffled screams were soon stopped when he dropped to the ground dead, shotgun tearing through his padding and plates.

"My my my, quality work! And the girl is quite the talent herself!" Fink's voice was already on the scene. The tycoon seemed eager to comment and was pleased by the show.

"This is pointless," Booker spat out. Elizabeth followed him down the stairs, looking at the agent intensely with her blue eyes.

"Just like with Slate, isn't it? Dancing to other man's tune." She was observant. Booker had the same thought, and didn't enjoy being a spectacle for someone.

Just to the side on the lower level there was a shimmering outline on the wall, a rectangle with a brass knob. It was an escape for them both.

"Elizabeth, could you open this door? We need to find Chen Lin, we don't need this."

Elizabeth lifted her hand and concentrated on the door and it appeared with a flash.

"I'm not sure where exactly it will take us..."

"As long as it leads us out of here" he was keen to leave the stage behind. They opened the door and stepped through.

"Now, our next candidate… Dewitt? Where are you? DeWitt? Oh no my dear sir, we will not…" Fink was left behind talking to himself and the pair found themselves on the other side of the wall in a dark corridor.

.

The hallway looked like the rest of the club, with ornate wallpaper and few lamps on the walls, but somehow, it felt murkier and darker. The eerie silence that filled the corridor felt strange, with their steps and breaths muted, to the point where they heard ringing in their ears. But they treaded carefully, not wanting to break the strange quiet, as if compelled to maintain it. The corridor led them to a large windowless room. The gloom was all-present here, and in the soundless darkness, only contours of things were visible, among them doors at the far end.

"I think that's the way…"Elizabeth said softly, but Booker heard her only faintly, even though she stood next to him. However, something stirred in the darkness as she spoke. Booker took few steps forward, still on his toes. It looked like this was still the theater; probably a lounge or some sort of extra show room, but it was isolated and empty. Booker slowly approached the middle of the room. There, in faint twilight, he saw it, advancing towards him from another area.

Its comically large head and wiry body made it look not very threatening, but the large trumpets protruding from the sides of the head, akin to grotesque ears gave the silhouetted figure a creepy look. It staggered forward slowly, stopping every step or so, moving its head from side to side as if listening to the surroundings.

Booker lifted his revolver up slowly and cocked it. The clunk of the gun was enough to startle it, quickly moving its head to the side, with one of the ear trumpets facing Booker. It heard him. Now he froze and stood there, unsure how to proceed, holding his breath. He craned his neck around to look at Elizabeth and saw only the glint of her frightened eyes as she stood frozen behind him.

The creepy creature took another step forward and Booker was only few feet away from it when he exhaled noiselessly. But even that was enough for the creepy boy to turn its head quickly form side to side and then face Booker with its sightless gaze. Now as it stood closer, he noticed that the head was a giant metal mask, with an oval opening for a mouth and a crudely shaped nose protruding at the front. And then all hell broke loose.

Their ears were filled with unearthly cacophony when the masked boy opened its mouth. It was a metallic, high pitched noise and the pair reeled in shock, trying to cover their ears. As the boy screamed, he released a shockwave of energy and a blast of deafening sound. Booker couldn't hear himself scream out in pain as his ears were overloaded and his vision went blurry. He hurriedly pulled the trigger few times and felt the kick of the gun in his wrist, but the bullets seemed to have no effect. At least Booker wasn't able to see any.

They both staggered around and turned to run. They ran blindly, not hearing their own footsteps or the creepy thing running behind them, but they felt a blast after blast on their back as the thing continued to pursue them. They got to another wide corridor with a row of doors and soldiers spilled out of them. It was a matter of instinct as Booker flung a flaming ball at the doors and set a score of men ablaze and turned around quickly to stop the boy with a Jockey bolt.

"Booker, a tear!"

Elizabeth pointed at the far end of the corridor where a fireplace shimmered with grainy quality. Booker was surprised at first, wondering what exactly was Elizabeth pointing at there, but he noticed a pepper gun hanging over it.

"Do it!" he yelled to her and ran towards fireplace, which materialized as he approached. He tossed the shotgun to the side and hefted the heavy weapon. Booker never imagined that such a gun could be hand-held, but it was mighty handy now as he aimed it at the soldiers. He shredded them mercilessly, spending the ammunition of the crank gun quickly as he mowed them down. except for the boy, who remained and he let out another painful scream. There was no time to linger around and the revolver did nothing. Booker hit him with another Jockey bolt and they ran for the last doors in the corridor that took them downstairs.

They descended quickly and found themselves in the basement of the theater, full of storage crates and unneeded props. Booker was still disoriented, but he was tired of running. He spun around on his heel as Elizabeth ran past him and reached out with telekinesis to his side without looking, lifting up a crate. Elizabeth was just as disoriented but she stopped when she saw Booker. The creepy thing was still hot on their heels when Booker threw the crate and disoriented the boy. Elizabeth followed suit and dashed her own crate, which hit it him in the chest and pushed him back. The crate broke open as it hit the wiry boy and spilled its contents. The crates were full of chains and tools and Elizabeth's eyes lit up.

"Booker, stop him, I need time!"

"I'm trying!"

He fired yet another bolt and paralyzed the boy, while Elizabeth took the opportunity and lifted all the metal in the air with a sweeping motion. Then she pulled it all together into one lump and the metal started to glow as she begun heating it up. By the time boy shook off the paralysis the basement was lit up with orange glow of the molten ball of metal. Booker could feel the heat on his face when Elizabeth yelled at him, tensed up and concentrated form the ordeal

"Take it!" she gave him a strained yell.

She didn't have to tell him twice. Booker took the ball from her and launched it at the boy of silence. The mass of molten metal crashed into the metal mask and buried it under its weight, with the heat of ball adding to the damage. It was over in a moment and the boy was no more, sprawled on the floor under a mass of molten iron. An eerie silence followed.

Booker winded down and holstered his gun.

"What the hell was that thing?" his own speech still sounded muffled to him but it was getting better, his hearing returning.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth?" he turned to look at her when he heard no reply. She probably was still deaf in the ear, he thought when he saw her bent over in half and clutching her chest.

He approached her, worry etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern. Ordinarily this wasn't his thing, but he had to see her safely through the city, for money's sake. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself over and over whenever an errant thought stirred in his head.

She looked up at him. She was coughing apparently, as he noticed that she was still holding her hand to her mouth.

"Are you ok?" He repeated his question and this time received a reply in a form of a nod.

"I'm fine, I –I just need to rest for a bit…heh heh."

Booker took a step back and Elizabeth rested her back against a wall.

"You don't have to strain yourself like that; you know I can handle it."

"I know, but I do not want to be a dead weight to you." Was she really that considerate or was she merely trying to prove a point about herself? Either way, it was doing her no good, he reflected.

"If I need you, I will say so, alright?" he was straightforward with her, but he hoped he didn't sound too harsh. He had to bring her to New York in one piece, having her coughing blood on the arrival wouldn't be probably worth a bonus. She nodded in understanding.

Booker looked around once again. In the rooms ahead there was some light, so he took few steps forward, and peeked around while waiting for Elizabeth to rest up. The place was clear so they moved forward again, although hushed and cautious, mindful of any potential surprises.

"Look, Chen-Lin, cell number 9."

Elizabeth pointed towards a board with names and numbers scrawled on it with chalk. It hung nearby a locked door, so Elizabeth set herself upon it without a word.

While she fiddled with the lock, Booker looked around the cellar once more. Fink was hot on their heels but it would be some time before he scrambled reinforcements. He eyed a gun rack in the next room and replaced lost shotgun with a rifle. He returned to Elizabeth, who was still working on the door, her eyes concentrated on the metal padlock in front of her.

"Getting rusty?" he teased her as she twiddled the hairpin in her fingers. She only gave him a glance and he chuckled.

"You know, I used to do more than just detective work," he said in a sudden bout of honesty. Places like these felt uncomfortably familiar to him. For some reason he felt that he had to get it off his chest. The girl made it too easy to get back in her good graces and it gnawed at him. He felt like he was using her in some irrational way. "I used to work for folks like Fink."

"Doing what?" she turned her azure eyes to him, stopping her breaking-in attempt for a brief moment.

"We used to go into the factories." he said wearily, recalling the events. "Demonstrated the folly of men striking, throwing down their tools."

"You hurt people..." she gasped

"I'll tell you this: Sometimes there's precious need for folks like Fitzroy"

"Why?"

"Because of people like me"

"No, you are better than that." She said suddenly, catching him off-guard. She still looked at him with a serious face but her expression softened somewhat. He felt like she was staring into his soul with her heartfelt appearance.

"You didn't take Fink's offer and you did not bully me in the airship. You can be good if you choose to Booker."

She turned her attention back to the lock and they finally heard that desired click as the lock fell to the floor and Elizabeth pushed the door open. Booker pondered at her words. It all kept coming back to choices, as always.

They passed through a boiler room, large furnace stuffed full of propaganda leaflets (all of them Vox, Booker noted) and passed into an interrogation room with a camera and a projector on tripods. There was also a blood-stained chair and some harsh-looking implements on a table nearby, which seemed to be recently used..

Elizabeth walked over to the projector and flipped the switch. On the large projector screen appeared a picture of a beaten up man, his face darkened and puffy, his eyes or mouth nearly invisible underneath the swelling of the injuries. The clip from the interrogation was accompanied by a voice record.

"Talk, you goddamn gook! What do you know about Daisy Fitzroy? Or do we have bring in Mrs. Lin for questioning?"

"Gah, he's spent. Throw a bucket of ice on him, we still have 3 more to go tonight."

Elizabeth looked on with horror on the barely alive man on the screen, while Booker inspected the room with quick glances. He took few steps more across the creaky floor and peered outside, into the corridor beyond. Elizabeth took her eyes off the interrogation reel and followed Booker quietly, who by now set his sights upon a lone guard.

Booker didn't want to make any more noise and Elizabeth wasn't a type who enjoyed putting dull hooks in people's faces, as she made it quite plain earlier on. Booker noticed a single chair standing in the corner of the corridor. With a mere flick of a hand, the chair flew squarely at the guard who was knocked unconscious.

Their path was clear ands they moved to find Chen Lin's cell. The stench of human waste and decay was tangible in the dark as they passed alongside numbered cells.

"Eugh, what's that's smell?" Elizabeth wrinkled her nose.

"Ain't no privies down here." Booker's tone was one of nonchalant ease; despite the knowledge, his awareness of how things were did not mean acquiescence to them, something he haphazardly tried explain to this innocent girl. And yet, he was tired of it. Tired of looking at the world through the grey-tinted glass.

"What could have people done to deserve being locked up in a place like this?"

"Fink don't need much of a reason"

"No, he doesn't." she echoed his words.

Cell number nine was at the end of the corridor, and upon spotting it, the fleet-footed girl set herself on the lock of the cell door.

"This is it, isn't it?"

"Yep, cell number nine."

They were finally done, Booker thought contentedly. With Chen Lin out and in Vox hands, they would get their airship back. He still had his reservations about Fitzroy, any man would about someone with her reputation but he was almost done..

"Ah, there you are DeWitt, I thought I lost you!" a jovial voice could be heard over the loudspeakers. The agent swore under his breath, while Elizabeth jumped up, darting around with scared eyes. "I was wondering what new trick did the girl conjure up before one of my 'alarms' found you, he he."

"You are a lion DeWitt, but you can't blame me for looking after my own interest, can you?" Fink was now gloating over Booker. " Now, I know all about your little deal with Fitzroy, and I think you will find your business with her has come to an end."

This was all going wrong again, Booker thought desperately as they entered the interior of the holding cell and descended the stairs quickly. Despite being named a cell, it was a large holding area, with an interrogation theater at the bottom of the stairs. Fink was not done however.

" I cannot believe you seriously considered her proposal over mine. I will have you know however, I always get what I want."

They were now running down their stairs. Booker's mouth was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, desperate to know if they weren't too late. The interrogation cell was dark when Booker ran in and saw the light switch on the wall. She slammed it with his fist and the solitary bulb that hung above the room came to life.

"Booker…." He heard her soft whisper, covering her mouth with her hand. This was definitely a sight she was not meant to see.

Booker grimaced as he observed a man tied to a chair, pool of blood surrounding him and flanked by a pair of small surgical tables. He walked up slowly to the chair and turned it around. Chen Lin's battered face was almost featureless, puffed up and purple from the heavy blows. Elizabeth turned to the side, her hand at her mouth still, while Booker continued to observe the massacred chinaman.

"We're too late. God damnit."

"Fink… this is what he meant," Elizabeth was still speaking in hushed voice, bringing herself to look at the dead man yet again. She saw Booker kill before and she grew somewhat accustomed it out of necessity and he tried to be more restrained about it in her presence, but there seemed to be a distinct line between defense and torture. This moment seemed to clarify it to her, especially when caused by a man like Fink.

"Now we need someone else to make these guns." Booker spoke up reluctantly, but Elizabeth had other things on her mind when her face grew hard.

"No."

"Dead is dead, Elizabeth"

"I… I feel a tear here. I can bring him back!"

"What?" Booker could scarcely believe her words. He turned to her, eyes wide.

"I'm not sure if it will work…. But I think I can save him." She looked at Chen Lin, staring at him intensely, seeing something Booker could not.

"You don't have to do this, we can go back to Fitzroy and…."

"Booker, this is my only way out." She sounded firm and looked at Booker with that same powerful gaze.

He saw her going through much already since they left the tower, and this place only added to her burden. Could she do it? Should she do it? They could always steal the ship back from Fitzroy, he had no qualms about that. He had no interest in helping her either, but to stop Elizabeth … he couldn't refuse the girl.

"Alright," he said reluctantly and took a step back. He wasn't sure if bringing back the dead was even the right thing to do, but if she could bring in turrets and doors, then why not people?

"Once I do this, I don't think I will be able to undo it if it goes badly. Are you ready?" she asked him and he nodded.

Elizabeth prepared herself, staring into the tear and threw her hands forward and pulled the tear apart. Apparently this one wasn't easy to open, as the tear stretched ever so slowly and she visibly struggled with it, grunting and heaving against the invisible barriers of reality. Booker could see a glimpse of another Columbia, not unlike their own, with live Chen Lin, with only some minor injuries struggling to his feet as Elizabeth attempted to keep him alive.

It was getting worse for her, who was almost bent over in half, still breathing raggedly, working to keep the tear open. The tear slowly expanded, bringing in the other Columbia to them, but something was off. Chen Lin wasn't merely alive, but he was more than that, with his features fading in and out and overlapping, old meshing with the new. For some reason, Chen Lin was not coming back to life properly. She was almost done however and she breathed with relief as she felt the resistance of the tear lessen.

"Booker, it worked!

Chen Lin staggered to his feet and shuffled forward, fading in and out, his features unclear. As he started to move, the tear around them started to shift. Their surroundings suddenly lost color and started to shrink back, wavering at the edges. The tear was collapsing.

"Elizabeth!" Booker raised his voice but the girl didn't seem to need any warning. She stretched her hands again and tried to keep the tear stable, but there was no stopping it as Chen Lin stumbled around half-dead. Booker was glued to his spot with no idea how to deal with this. All he could do was yell at the girl.

Elizabeth!

"I'm w-working on it!"

He could push her to do it and fix the tear before they would lose Chen Lin. But the agent wondered if the anomaly of a gunsmith was really what Fitzroy had in mind when she mentioned weapon supplies. He didn't' have much time to choose however as Elizabeth was losing it. The young woman seemed to give the tear one more push however and it exploded outwards. Chen Lin was still with them, although he seemed to ignore the pair.

Elizabeth leaned on the wall and sucked in air with hard breaths. This seemed to take more out of her than anything they've tried to pull in before and Booker wondered if she would be able to keep up all the way through with it.

"Mr. Lin? Chen Lin? S'cuse me, we've come.." Booker spoke to the old craftsman, who appeared to be quite dazed and unsure of his surroundings. Booker went to touch him on the shoulder, but when he did, he felt strange tingling in his hand and Lin remained fuzzy. That's when the world around them started to shake again and the tear snapped back like a stretched rubber band, collapsing around them and hitting Elizabeth. Chen Lin lost his fuzzy appearance and a dead man hit the floor in front of Booker. It happened too fast for him, and in the corner of his eye he caught Elizabeth falling to the ground, as she let out a single pained yelp.

He rushed to her side, his eyes darting all around her, looking for signs of injury. He felt utterly helpless with those tears around, unable to help her with what seemed like a bizarre condition rather than a magical power.

"Elizabeth?"

She panted heavily, her eyes were large and terrified, her small frame shaking ever so slightly.

"I-I'll just... uh..."

There's no controlling these things." He commented. It was probably his only correct scientific observation about the phenomena, yet he did not aspire to sound smart or deductive. He couldn't risk her life like that.

Fink was hot on their heels and it seemed like the easy part was over.

"You see DeWitt, I am not a man to be refused. You are quite the gun, but, I think this interview is over. You brought the girl to my theater, and now I will help you with your debt, permanently. Some of the other applicants are still waiting for their grades, and the audience is getting restless, ha ha."

"Shit." Without hesitating, Booker hefted the rifle and with the weapon in his hands he ran upstairs. Elizabeth barely made it after him, still wheezing and clutching her chest, but he knew he didn't have to worry about her following him.

There's got to be a way out somewhere, he thought desperately as they moved from the basement and along the corridors of the Theater. When they returned to the hall where they met the screaming boy, only two paths were to be found –one of them was locked.. Another door was open and he went for it. The entered what looked to be a dressing room, with mirrors, dressers and costumes and another set of doors.

He didn't think of where would they lead, but he felt the burning need to move, to run. In New York there was always a way out in the maze of streets – turn left or right, down the alleyway and then back around. But Columbia was a different affair, and what he found behind these doors was the last thing he wanted.

He and Elizabeth found themselves on the stage, in front of an audience of armed men, automata and heavy hitters looking at them. Booker's real show was about to start.

* * *

**Development notes:** Finkton and Fink Theater feature prominently in art and early to mid trailers and clips. To those who have seen the art, they will recognize the description of the theater front. I also hope I conveyed the feeling of size of Finkton here, which is considerably larger than the in-game version. For the most part, there doesn't to be appear much difference on Finkton plot-wise in story terms between the current game and the original drafts, save for size and the interactions in it.  
I hope everyone is satisfied with reveal of the features that the game missed out on completely - Boys of Silence and further developing of Elizabeth's powers and limits. I decided to skip on Luteces here, mainly because they appear to be a product of the subsequent version of the game. You may have noticed clues about their appearance and they are certainly somewhere out there, but I am skipping completely on the "Deus ex Machina" solutions that their appearances contributed.


	14. Chapter 14 - Out of Frying Pan

**This took me longer than it should have but here we are. Enjoy! Notes below as usual.**

**Also, thank you for your reviews, its good to get your feedback. I'm working though the grammar ever so slowly, and fixing up things, but I try to push out a chapter every once in while too.**

* * *

**Out of frying pan….**

Like deer caught in the headlights, Booker and Elizabeth stood on the stage, frozen in sight of Fink's army.

Just my luck, he thought to himself. There was nowhere to run or hide, so he did the only thing he could do. He ran at them, throwing a fireball at the closest group of men. Chaos and speed were his allies now, as he lifted the rifle to his arm and took out a man to his right as he ran forward. Tears floated above him and he would need every extra bit of distraction on his side.

"Elizabeth!"

He heard instantaneous "Done" from her and a flying gun above him added to the confusion, as it peppered the soldiers with bullets. For all of Booker's speed and Vigors however, he had to contend with more men than before and a Patriot, which forced him into cover behind one of the booths in the room. He peered out of cover to throw a Bronco at a group of soldiers closing in on him but was rewarded with sharp pain and the patriot kept him pinned and a bullet grazed his arm. He clutched it and suppressed his scream with clenched teeth. He was in a tight spot.

There were no sentry tears anywhere and the mosquito drone was taken out of the air quickly. Elizabeth hid behind a booth too as she slowly made her way around the hall to the exit. They only way he could do it were by running and gunning his way to her, but that was unlikely. He snatched another glance of approaching men and he had a second to decide, no more. He decided to go for it.

Another flaming ball flew at the goons trying to surround him and he ran between them, hoping for cover or at least friendly fire from the Patriot and others. Now all he needed were the stairs and Elizabeth was already on them, emitting scared gasps as bullets whizzed past her. He got to the stairs and lifted the rifle to aim. Booker Dewitt was a proficient shooter even with a bleeding arm, and took down another two men before they forced him to run for cover again.

The patriot was proving to be the worst pain of all and Booker was out of Shock Jockey to make a difference. He peered out of cover again quickly to take couple of pot shots a ducked before automatic fire peppered him again. He needed a distraction, a decoy…

Up on the stage another tear gleamed, but what was in it was no weapon or sentry. Booker thought he was seeing things when he recognized a silhouette that was quite like his. There can't be two of me, he thought incredulously, but at the same time, it was an opportunity he wanted. Maybe tears were starting to fulfill his wishes too.

"Elizabeth, up on the stage!"

Even though a fair distance separated them on the upper level from the stage, Elizabeth's powers seemed to have no range limit as she willed a shimmering doppelganger of Booker onto a stage. He didn't move of course and the soldiers didn't seem to react to it, but it was enough to fool the automaton, who turned around and fired at Booker's ghostly image.

That was enough for Booker to get a line of sight on the gears and he leaned out to shoot. The gears made ungodly noise as they were shattered by his careful shots and sparks showered men around the downed Patriot. But they would not let up as hey tried to surround him again. Bleeding shoulder was bit of a snag to Booker, who felt the pain in the muscle as he threw Bucking Bronco to his right and took down two men and went for cover again to get rifle out and ready for another group to his left.

He looked to Elizabeth, who was alert, but he saw a glimpse of determination and focus in her face instead of fright that she showed at the beginning. She gave him a confident smirk as she saw him look at her but the incoming soldiers dispelled their moment quickly. Elizabeth was first to turn to them this time and willed a tear right under their legs, a pool of water flowing out of a broken faucet on the wall.

She did it just as one of them, a man of bulk with crystals growing in various places of his body was about to throw a bolt of electricity at Booker. The electric arc stuck to them and after a moment of pained shout they were out, their bodies fried.

Elizabeth turned away form the flash and dying people, but she didn't show much distress, keeping her composure. Either she was growing crazy on him or she had more guts than he expected. He hoped it was the latter.

"The place is clear, let's not linger here for long."

He quickly reloaded both his guns and walked over to the downed men to loot. Elizabeth, despite her willingness to fight, wouldn't touch them, only wrinkling her nose as she approached them. She noticed the bleeding shoulder.

"I'll find something for you."

He nodded appreciatively before she skipped away in search of supplies. Further to the left on the upper level she found a large private room, well furnished with a big counter on a dais, a fireplace and a large couch in front of it. There was also a safe in the corner of the room, no doubt locked and loaded with silver, just like the rest of those things in whole Columbia.

She was grabbed a small med kit off the counter just as Booker entered after her.

They took to dressing of his wound without a word, both of them already acquainted with the procedure while Booker eyed the Vigor bottles laying all over the counter and shelves behind, as well as a Nostrum bottle glistening among them.

"You didn't seem so scared this time," he inquired.

"Well, I said I do not want to be dead weight to you, didn't I?"

As soon as she was done bandaging his arm, she started working on the safe. No doubt the girl was eager to set herself with funds once they got to Paris…

Booker had to stop himself. Since when was Paris was their destination? It wasn't his idea of course but he had to look back at the circumstances as they were - he wouldn't be able to pull another fast one on her and he had no intention of doing so. His employers were of a different mind no doubt. He would have to figure a way around it, but he was stuck in Columbia for now and more immediate worries.

Booker never enjoyed the taste of Vigors and they were every single bit as vile as when he tasted them for the first time, but at least he had a chance to restock on them now. He also drank the Nostrum, that alone among the various ether-infused drinks didn't' taste totally awful and the tonics made him much faster and resilient, be it on the skyline or with Vigors. Some had funny effects too, like replenishing his energy with various Vigors after he killed a man or gave him literal immunity to bullets when he jumped off from the skyline. Booker wondered briefly who made such things and why were they scattered all over the place, but it didn't change fact that he was acquiring an immense arsenal of supernatural powers.

As he was chugging the last bottle, Booker heard a click of the opened safe. Elizabeth rooted around the big metal case for a before finding a purse and scooping coins into it.

"Here Booker, more money." She put the heavy purse on the counter in front of him.

"These are getting heavy, you know." Booker wiped his mouth as he set last of the empty bottles besides the purse and suppressed a burp. His hand drifted into the purse and hefted it.

"I am more than able to help you, but the supplies aren't always at hand. I can't conjure up a rifle or a pistol in an instant for you to use. These vending machines are good for it though."

I don't think I can spend it all in here." He said practically. "There's more than enough here to spend a comfortable couple of months in New York."

"Or Paris…" she added innocently.

He gave her a weak smile. Yes, Paris… it wasn't a bad thought, but that wasn't his choice. However, to convince her to come along to New York would be impossible now.

"Alright, I think we've stayed here long enough, lets move."

"Where to now?" Elizabeth asked as they descended the stairs to in the entry hall.

"Chen Lin is dead and we have no guns. A place like Columbia must have a weapon depot somewhere."

"Where can we find it?"

"That's the tough part. But we must find a safe spot and wait for things to blow over."

They left the theatre and were welcomed by darkness, punctuated by street lamps. Their escapade took long enough for sun to set and they didn't even notice. The theatre glowed with its lamps and signs, bathing the square in front of it with light, but so far there seemed to be little in way of pursuit or reinforcements. Booker looked around watchfully for any sign of trouble before aiming for the cover of darkness in the alleys. Booker recalled large shipping area that was to the side of the square, unused. They would be hunted if they stayed in Finkton Main; they had to move quickly there.

The road up ahead to the Finkton Wharf Shipping led them back through the main plaza, now quiet and full of shadows cast by the lamps. The gate to the shipping area looked relatively safe to pass, and the plaza itself was still and silent. For a brief moment Booker caught himself glimpsing left and right, worrying that another creeper with trumpets for ears was prowling around. But he could hear Elizabeth skittering behind him, delicate as it was with her heels making a distinctive noise on the cobblestone and his own steps alongside hers. The sounds might have been too loud, he thought, them alone out here. They made their way all the same and crossed the gate, scurrying along the wall.

"Booker." He heard her whisper behind him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what those are?" He turned around to face Elizabeth, and she pointed to something attached to the brick wall as they passed it. It was hard to see in the dark exactly what was it, but as he approached, he saw a rough sketch of Elizabeth's face. Her short hair, large eyes and apparently, a sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks that he never noticed before. Next to hers was his own picture, warts and all, framed with a large caption over both of them.

'_WANTED'_

A detailed description at the bottom of the pictures was barely legible in the dark but the posters alone were enough of a problem for the former Pinkerton.

"The whole goddamn town now knows what we look like and put a price on us." he spat.

Something made a noise in the dark as Booker angrily remarked at their situation. He pulled out his gun. More noise followed and suddenly they were covered in light, spotlight illuminating them as they stood with their backs to the posters. Elizabeth gasped and Booker took a step forward, shielding her with his own body.

"There he is, we've got them!"

From one trap to another, Booker and Elizabeth couldn't stave off the trouble. The yelling got worse as soldiers started approaching them on the walkway to the wharf, until now hidden around the area. Somewhere in the distance a loud whistling noise could be heard and they saw a flare burst in the air high above them, flashing with red light.

Not only they found them, they were calling in a whole damn party. It was time to run again, and they darted for the wharf, escaping the light and the incoming soldiers. Bullets whizzed past them as they ran. The wharf was not very different from other places in Finkton, with bricks, steel, wood and containers, be it cargo or giant steel cisterns. Elizabeth ran for the nearest cover of crates while Booker stood his ground with the revolver in hand, laying down those who came into the circle of light that trailed on him from a gunship above. He had to duck and jump away though as automatic fire from above intensified. Loud droning noise could be heard in the distance and the flames and whizz of boat engines brought in more troopers.

Despite incoming fire, Booker did not fall back, tossing a fireball at a boat above him silencing the gunfire as men fell to their deaths in flames. But that was just one out of many. He threw a Bronco at another band of men approaching him up front and took them down with aimed shots. Do they ever learn, he thought incredulously. That's when he felt a painful shock course through his body and he yelped out in pain. It took him a second to realize that indeed they were learning and throwing their own Vigors at him. A bullet grazed him on a head and he felt the sharp stinging as it left a red line on the side of his head. He had to put something solid between himself and them. He looked grimly at the men swarming around and making approach at their position behind the crates.

"Elizabeth, you see anything?" Booker was in middle of reloading his rifle when he spoke, a stream of blood from his grazed temple now staining his face. A bullet flew right past him and showered him in splinters of wood as it hit the crate few inches away form his face.

Elizabeth looked equally stressed, but she did not lose her temper. "No, but I got an idea."

She took in few deep breaths and despite the hail of bullets, stood up and stretched her hand forward. Faint bluish glow appeared around the palm of her open hand and a gust of wind begun to pick up. After a short moment the wind got stronger, sweeping hats off soldier's heads and forcing them to cover their eyes.

Booker looked on with amazement as a cloud generated above them, right atop of all the swarming soldiers

"Booker, use the Shock Jockey!"

He looked at the cloud again and the soldiers that were trying to make sense of the new power she unleashed on them. He didn't hesitate with launching a bolt of electricity that seemed to expand as it hit the cloud and blasted every man in its vicinity. It was a painful lightshow as the men screamed, lighted up by the thunderbolt and dropped to the ground dead as soon as the cloud disappeared.

No doubt more troops were on the way but for now, their path was clear. All he had in sight were empty boats hovering above.

They got out of cover moved forward along the wharf. Skylines were hanging along the pier, an escape route they were looking for.

That's when they heard a noise, akin to a crackling radio or a scratchy gramophone record. The sound became clearer after a moment and otherworldly singing could be heard. Booker and Elizabeth were startled, looking around nervously. They saw something shimmering in the distance, floating among the crates. It got gradually closer to them and the crackling and the music got louder. Booker wondered if it was another musical tear and eased, lowering his weapon but Elizabeth didn't.

"Booker I don't think this is a tear…."

The apparition became clear now, a translucent figure of a woman, shrouded in a cloak, her eyes aglow.

He faced metal giants, automata wielding machine guns and people juiced up on Vigors, but this sight raised hair on his neck.

"Elizabeth, why is there a ghost following us?"

The ghost became aware of them as he spoke and suddenly rose a mournful sound, unearthly wailing escaping from her, as she darted in the air, first in Booker's direction but soon afterwards soaring above their heads and stopping at the dead bodies of soldiers that littered the place.

Her shrill cries grew as the apparition raised her hands. Two dead bodies rose in the air as if they were puppets on string and lighted up with the same glow that emanated from the ghost. They were standing now, eyes shining with white light and their bodies dark, ready to fight.

"S-she's resurrecting them" Elizabeth stammered with disbelief.

"Then I'll have to put them down." Booker didn't wait for the undead to get to them but instead lifted the rifle and fired several shots at one of the resurrected troopers, a woman. Only with his fifth shot she went down, undeterred by damage done to her. The other one already got back his machine gun and fired at Booker while the ghost flew over the dock again and raised another pair of soldiers.

Booker continued firing at the other trooper and put him down quickly with a well-placed headshot. But by the time he was down, another pair was resurrected to take his place. Booker was firing like mad now, spent shells surrounding him, but the ghost only increased its pace. His fight seemed in vain as the siren started raising the corpses he just shot. Finally, Booker was forced into cover as the undead begun returning fire. He was back to square one.

"Elizabeth do you think you can do it again?"

"It won't work, she will bring them back right up!"

He gritted his teeth and loaded his remaining ammunition into the rifle. He felt the familiar heat in his hand as he willed Devil's Kiss and threw a fireball at the group of undead. It was enough to stop them firing for a moment as they flailed around and Booker moved forward, with his sights on the wailing specter. His bullets weren't silver, but they had an effect, the spirit screamed as rounds from the rifle pierced through its airy form. The undead were on him again, but he swatted them away with a quick Bronco.

The siren did not stay still, floating around the area, looking for more bodies to raise, but those put down by Booker were now set ablaze by his vigor and were charred beyond use. He dropped the empty rifle and followed the ghost with his hand cannon. Booker did not let up until she screamed one last time, sharp noise followed by a shockwave as she popped like a soapy bubble.

Booker walked back to Elizabeth, exhausted. He picked up a machine gun from one of the bodies before he sat down on a crate nearby. Elizabeth now began their ritual of tending to his wounds with supplies found among the soldiers.

"What the hell was that thing?"

"I don't think that was a ghost." Elizabeth replied thoughtfully as she cleaned Booker's head wound with antiseptic. "Ghost can't be hurt with bullets. It must have been someone who didn't quite go to the other side, or had ability to contact the dead."

"Dead or not, she screamed like a banshee." Booker remarked.

"Maybe she was a singer before, and now she's a siren." Elizabeth said wistfully. She put away the medical supplies and Booker got up slowly. "It seems like she followed us all the way here from the theater."

"You are magnet for trouble, you know that?" Booker joked and smirked, but Elizabeth only gave him a threatening glare and pursed her lips.

"If you think I'm funny Mister DeWitt…"

"Alright, I didn't mean it." He sighed. "We need to lay low somewhere. That Shantytown place seems good for it."

Elizabeth eased up and searched her memory. "I recall the maps showing Shantytown somewhere below us."

"Then there must be an elevator somewhere here." Booker declared. They set themselves looking around and Elizabeth was somehow able to find a sign guiding them to the "maintenance elevator". There were no more obstacles or sounds and the place was quiet once again as they entered the small building where the elevator could be found. Unlike other, big entrances with security posts, this one was plain, unguarded and locked away. Elizabeth swiftly opened it and they stepped inside.

The ride was slow and the view of the town below them was obscured by the darkness, only illuminated by the dim lights of people's dwellings.

"You must think me some sort of... freak," Elizabeth said sullenly all of a sudden. "A girl that warps reality around her. Whose only acquaintance is… a giant bird creature." She threw her arms up in air. "I must seem ridiculous."

It seemed that Booker's earlier remark got to her. "You just got dealt a bad hand."

"I am not going back to that tower, no matter what happens." She now turned to him, determined look in her eyes.

"They won't stop until they have you."

"Why? What did I do to them?" Her eyes were now two narrow slits, expecting the harsh answer from Booker.

"You are unique. The things you can do, it frightens them. But at the same time, they crave your power."

She sighed sadly, dropping her head.

"They will have to go through me first if they want you." He added. Elizabeth looked up at him and smiled weakly. Even at her lowest, she still looked beautiful to him. He wouldn't let her down.

The elevator stopped and opened. They were now at the bottom of Finkton, in its lowest, dirtiest part.

* * *

**Development notes: **More Heavy Hitters and more Elizabeth! Here we have a siren, which unlike the current game version, is an apparition of a spiritual medium, that via its manipulation of Ether and knowledge is able to resurrect the dead,while being quite undead herself. Thats tears and ghosts for you. elizabeth continues to surprise and I try to mix and match her role between an active combatant and a support for Booker. She easily fills both those roles, and sufficient to say ,the story will make use of this dichotomy.  
The chapter was quite combat-heavy and its unavoidable with an FPS game, even like Bioshock. Heavy hitter sections tend to be quite closely spaced with standard encounters and its easy to see both of them turning into one. I hope next chapter will have more flow to it.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Underbelly

**Here we are folks, another part of the story. Thank you for the feedback and kind words. We're pretty much on the line with the game here, but I've included some twists and the next chapter will be a real turn.**

* * *

**The Underbelly**

They stepped out of the elevator and looked around. They were surrounded by bricks, shacks and dirt, with few lights illuminating the darkness that enveloped the bottom of Finkton. They were standing in a narrow street with the worker accommodation on both sides, squeezing against each other and rising high in the dilapidated buildings. Everything was held together by walkways, cranes and steel beams, and the wide industrial lanes were packed with shacks. Skylines were everywhere in Columbia and Shantytown was no exception either.

As they moved forward, they could see the squalor, people in shanties or huddling by the fire, a preacher in distant corner cried out to few interested people. Air was damp and murky and carried the ever-present smell of rot. Elizabeth face was a mixture of horror and a disgusted grimace, while Booker was gloomy.

"These people are like that because of Fink?" Elizabeth spoke up. "Maybe Daisy is right. Maybe she should pay him for all this."

Elizabeth was finally seeing the real world in all its foul glory. Columbia was a great city, but it had a nasty underbelly, like any other grand place. If you looked beyond the Monument Island and the azure sky around, you were left with folk that often had nothing to lose. Shantytown was their home.

"Not before she pays us," Booker said resolutely. "We're here for the airship. Its best we find some place sleep, all sorts of types roam this place at night.

"You've been here before? "she inquired.

"No, but I know this type of place and the people you can find down here."

Hoping for a hotel or a room to rent down here was in vain, so the best Booker could find was a spot where no one would bother them. For a place full of squalor, Shantytown had plenty of empty or hidden spots. After a short walk down the 'main' street, they dived into an alley and Booker looked around carefully. Few locked-up places and a boarded-up house. That would have to do. The door was boarded up, so it took Booker few swift kicks and some prying to crack the wood and open it. The interior was dark and dusty, but to their joint surprise the place was relatively uncluttered. A bed, a table and a chair could be found inside. Booker found an oil lamp and with a flick of his fingers, lit it up. Elizabeth's keen eye spotted a coin gleaming in lamp's weak flame, which she promptly tossed to Booker.

"Alright, you can sleep and I will keep an eye out," He stated flatly before sitting down in the chair and exhaling.

Elizabeth had a different arrangement in mind as she was about to speak up, but her single yawn was enough to force her to concede. Just as before, it was Booker on the lookout and Elizabeth sleeping although by the end, Booker dozed off too.

He jumped to his feet as he woke up from dreamless sleep, startled by some crunching and scraping. The lamp already burned out but he could hear something scurrying around on the floor, rats no doubt. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, getting back his bearings. Elizabeth was awoken by his sudden awakening and yawned herself, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

"What time is it?" She asked him groggily.

"Must be morning," Booker replied in the same sleepy tone, as he walked over to the busted door and looked outside, the place looking slightly brighter as the murkiness was dispelled by weak light from above.

"Ugh, corset is not a thing you ought to sleep in," Elizabeth stood up and stretched, letting out pained ohs and ahs.

Booker was first to come out, leaning out and making sure no one was out to ambush them. But the alley was clear and they made their way back to the main avenue again.

The picture from yesterday was unchanged, save for more people out in the open. Booker felt growling in his stomach, reminding him that he had nothing to eat in a while. Elizabeth seemed to be in a similar state, holding on to her stomach and looking around with the same expression as he was.

"Do you think those tears of yours could have food in them?" Booker asked half-jokingly.

"I don't think so. At least not around here."

As they pushed on, the sights did not get prettier. Each street corner was plastered with calls for food or a doctor for a sick family member. Despite the early hour, the gloom of the place was permanent and bore down on both Booker and Elizabeth.

That's when they encountered some commotion ahead, with people crowding around few stalls. As they approached, a smell of hot food punched through the dank air and made them even hungrier. Booker swallowed and got closer to the line. People were huddled around shoddily raised stall and table, where one man, scrawny and balding, distributed bowls of what looked like stew and some raw potatoes for people to take home. He was accompanied by another, bulky man in a trench coat, who stood behind him and watched over food being dispensed, armed with machine gun.

Booker did not say a word to the man but his approach was enough to get their attention.

"Back it up, skel," the man with the gun growled at him and pointed his weapon and Booker.

"Hey, I'm not looking for trouble."

"I'm sure you don't, now back off," He motioned with his gun, while the gathered people looked at him with mixture of apprehension and hate.

He took few steps back slowly and turned around. Elizabeth looked somewhat discomforted.

"They are certainly not welcoming to strangers," she said sadly.

"They ain't exactly suffering from overabundance of food. Any man hungry enough is going to get twitchy,"

"We still need to find that depot," she reminded him.

"And what better place to ask than a local dive?" Booker asked cheerily, as he saw a sign of a bar in the distance. Despite the early hour, the place looked open. In Shantytown, it seemed that any hour was a good place to drown one's sorrows in a glass of rotgut.

They went down the stairs to get to the bar and as they approached it, they were accosted by two men who stood near the entrance. They looked just like the rest of this place, in torn clohes, dirty faces and ugly grimaces. They stopped few feet away from them, and Booker noticed silhouettes of pistols in heir hands.

"Privileged types…" croaked one of them. It was easy to notice that they weren't from around here. Even with their clothes somewhat crumpled and untidy, Booker still worse a suit with a tie and Elizabeth wore her blue dress and corset. They were a suspicious pair in the midst of a place like Shantytown.

"Spare some coin, friend… Not all of us are 'gainfully employed' down here…"

They took few steps forward and aimed their guns at him. "An'a man's gotta eat…"

They were about to pull their triggers when Booker jumped forward to one of them and knocked him out cold with a skyhook, slamming it inot the man's head. Booker hoped not to make much of a mess in front of Elizabeth as he spun around and in fluid motion pulled the hand cannon on the other man, who with wide eyes looked at Booker. Elizabeth jumped up a little when she heard the gun go off so close to her, but said nothing. She seemed to understand Booker's earlier remark about various types.

'Graveyard Shift' looked like the rest of Shantytown: dirty, poor and dark, with the addition of booze and smell of it on everything inside. People slouched at the table in the middle, sipping their drinks while a scratchy record played in the background. Booker felt somewhat familiar inside the dive and eased up as they entered, while Elizabeth only wrinkled her nose and observed the people silently. Booker knew that this place wasn't safe but it was a recognizable kind of danger.

A burly, bearded barkeep eyed Booker suspiciously as he walked over to the bar.

"Yeah, what can I do you for?"

"Do you have anything to eat?"

"Bill is over there," the barkeep pointed into the corner of the room, where vending machine stood.

Booker took out some money from his waistcoat and handed it to Elizabeth, who went to get something for them.

"You don't happen to know if there is an army depot or a warehouse around in Finkton, would you?"

The barkeep still eyed Booker with unsure eye. "Who's askin'? These kinda questions will get ya killed." Booker noticed that the man kept his hand under the counter, arm tensed.

"I'm on a job from Daisy. I have a deal with her." Booker rested his arm on the bar in a relaxed pose, face calm. Elizabeth returned, carrying some candy bars from the vending machine.

"Daisy you say? And why should I believe you?" The bearded man was getting increasingly belligerent and the men around them were now looking at them too.

Booker's voice became more forceful. He knew he couldn't push these folk, but he wasn't going to be pushed around either. "Look pal, my face is plastered all over Finkton on a wanted list and I'm on a run for trying to help Daisy. Either you help me or don't, but there's precious time to be saved if you do."

Everyone in the bar eased up visibly, and the barkeep took his hand out from behind the counter.

"You got some guts, coming up to people like that." The man shifted from side to side throwing a look in Elizabeth's direction, who was still silent and as tension eased, she started eating her candy bar. "And who's she?"

Elizabeth swallowed her bite. "My name is Elizabeth I'm-"

"She's with me, that's all you need to know," Booker cut in abruptly. "Do you know where the depot is?"

The man behind the counter looked at Booker again with narrowed eyes. "If you are looking for weapons, you are after the police impound at Bull House. It's the only clean building down here and the big avenue leads to it, you can't miss it."

Booker nodded appreciatively and turned towards the exit with Elizabeth. As they got out of the bar, she handed him his snack. They walked silently for a moment while eating their food. Booker was first to finish, scoffing down his portion while Elizabeth ate in small bites.

Suddenly, she stopped, noticing something to the side and Booker took few steps forward before realizing that she's not keeping up.

"Elizabeth?" He turned around and saw her as she crouched besides a small boy, who sat near an empty, overturned barrel, his legs curled up under his chin. He looked frightened and hungry.

"Why, hi there," Elizabeth was smiling to him. "Here you go little fella," she said cheerily before handing him the remainder of her candy bar, about half of it left. The boy snatched it from her hand and munched on the sweet treat. After a moment, his face lit up as he chewed on the food. He smiled shyly back at Elizabeth.

"I thought you were hungry," Booker remarked as she got up and rejoined him.

"They need it more than we do," she replied with a heartfelt tone. "I can't believe that people can be so cruel and uncaring. It makes me glad that we are helping Daisy."

"If she delivers on her end of the bargain, we will be out of here. These folks will manage on their own."

Booker had a sneaking suspicion that what Vox were planning wasn't going to be peaceful by any means. He just had to get the ship and get out of their way before he and Elizabeth were swept up in the turmoil. But it was hard not to care, especially in her presence. Booker never expected simple kindness out of people, and where he saw it wasn't altruism that drove people to help. Elizabeth was naïve, yes, but at the same time, she wasn't spoiled by the rot of the world at large, he reflected. Caring about things was simply easier around her.

The path ahead of them got brighter as the underbelly of Finkton was exposed to the open sky. Just off to the side they could see the piers and warehouses lined up and suspended in the air. They could feel the air move here. Elizabeth ran up to the edge of the city and drew in deep breath.

"Hmm, it feels so nice to see the open sky again," she exhaled and let out a contented sigh.

"Yeah, a breath of fresh air is a nice change."

They stood there for a brief moment, staring at the morning sky and enjoying the sight of Columbia proper in the distance. That's when Booker heard a remote, high-pitched shriek. He froze and his muscles tensed. That shriek was all too familiar to him. Elizabeth reacted too, her eyes widened in panic and her face turned form content to terrified in an instant.

"Elizabeth, run!"

They both turned around and ran forward, not looking back. Even as they both stretched their legs and dashed forward, propelled by fear, Booker couldn't help but feel like he was stuck in mud, each step slower than the next

With a high-pitched scream, Songbird landed heavily on the edge of the city platform, its red eye following the fleeing pair. It rose in the air again, climbing high above the buildings, still following them as it gilded and broke through the labyrinth of walkways, supports and tall smokestacks that filled the rooftops of Shantytown. But those were not an obstacle for the flying creature, which rained debris on Booker and Elizabeth as they fled among the narrow buildings. Booker with desperation looked for a way out, bits of plaster and bricks already on his coat and in his hair. The road ahead of them got wider as the street led them to a dock. They could see a skyline up ahead.

"There, a way out!" Booker shouted to Elizabeth and with renewed hope dashed ahead. Despite her small statue and clothing rather unsuitable for running, Elizabeth managed to keep up with Booker and she too ran eagerly towards the dock.

"Booker, do you know here this goes?" She shouted to him as they were nearing the skyline.

"Anywhere but here is good enough for me!"

Songbird was faster than them however and dived right in front of them, crashing through the metal rails and the wooden pier. They had nothing but rubble behind them and a gaping space in front of them.

"Whoa, damnit, there's no way out!" Booker screamed over the noise of falling wreckage.

"The warehouse, this way!" Elizabeth pointed at stairway leading to a building, its side open to the dock.

Songbird was still near and they could hear its angry whistles when they quickly scaled the stairs and entered the warehouse. The place was chockfull of various construction materials, tools and platforms on which rested small, half-constructed houses, not unlike the shanties and dirty bungalows that littered Shantytown streets. More prefabricated houses were hanging above them on a skyline, suspended on ropes.

Booker felt the whole building shake as Songbird landed on the roof and more torn metal begun to fall from the ceiling. As they got to the other end of the warehouse, they were faced with another problem, quite similar to the last one. The opposite side of the warehouse was completely open, with a brick pier and the line carrying the houses ran outside, suspended from a giant metal arch that connected the warehouse with a building opposite to it, with nothing but several hundred feet of empty air in between.

Songbird already tore off the roof and was now inside the warehouse. Booker acted on instinct as he threw a lever nearby and jumped forward onto a low-hanging platform in front of the pier that started to move.

"Elizabeth, jump!"

Elizabeth followed him closely and jumped onto the prefab house. Songbird crashed through the warehouse and brushed against the side of the prefabricated house with its arm, rocking it from side to side.

"Booker!"

Elizabeth screamed as she held on to the half-finished wall of the prefab for dear life, while Booker was looking out for the bird, hoping that they would not be tipped out. The platform swung form side to side slowly and Booker pulled out his hand cannon, holding onto a metal strut sticking out of the wall. Songbird was still flying around and Booker was sure it wanted them to drop. The bird was on approach, its talons aimed at the side of the house when Booker shot at to several times. The bullets did not pierce the tough leather of the monster's costume, but it was enough to surprise it and have it dodge to the side. Booker immediately ran over to the other side to fire but Songbird dived down as it dodged and flew up to the platform from the opposite site again, rocking it with its wings brushing against it.

"He will tip us out!" Elizabeth shrieked, shakily holding onto the wall.

"No he won't," Booker wasn't really putting much stock in his own words, but he still said it for her benefit.

The prefabricated house slowly made its way to the opposite side, still swinging from side to side. They both jumped off, slightly too high and tumbled as they hit the wooden floor of the storage building. Booker was first to get up, weapon In hand and really worked up. That flying thing got in his way for far too long. He sure as hell wasn't able to stop it, but he hoped to put a few bullets in to slow it down. There was no way he could realistically hurt it, but he was angry enough to trade punches with it.

Elizabeth got up quickly after him and turned to run through the cluttered warehouse, while he kept glancing behind his shoulder and looked at the monster as it crashed through the suspended house like it was cardboard. Songbird landed where they jumped off a moment ago and tore down the wall. Songbird pushed inside and followed them with it eye, bathing them in red glare. The beast was fast, but the struts and beams that supported the roof got in the way, catching the wings and slowing it down.

Booker slowed down and turned around to shoot. He slung the machine gun from his arm and aimed at Songbird's eye. It didn't seem damaged by that either, but the shots surprised it again, as it raised its hand to cover its glowing eye.

"Booker! What are you doing?" Elizabeth shouted in disbelief as Booker reloaded the gun.

"What does it look like?" he shouted back.

Angry whistles and noises intensified, as the monster pushed towards them swiftly, sweeping crates and containers out of its way. The building shook around them and the houses hanging above them swung from side to side. Songbird's hand jutted out towards them again, as fast as Booker's eye could register. He had a Vigor ready though, feeling the tingle in his fingertips and fired an arc of electricity. The Jockey danced on the metal claws of the monster and traveled along its metal rivets and paralyzed the giant hand for a second. They could see a skyline running off from another pier, they just had to get there to escape. Songbird whistled again angrily and with a heavy stomp on the floor, shook the building again, knocking them off their feet as they were nearing the exit. The crates and containers stacked in the building shook too, and some of them toppled on the mechanical giant. Its noises turned from angry to confused and pained whistles, as the monster tried to push the containers away. The more it pushed, the more the building gave way, as it tried to squeeze between the steel beams and collapsing crates that were now incapacitating it.

"Booker, a door!" Elizabeth pointed out ahead of her a familiar shape, flickering on a wall

The structure groaned as bent metal gave way under Songbird's pressure. Booker felt as the building shifted and the roof threatened to collapse if any of the supports gave way. This was his chance to stop the flying bastard for a bit longer.

He lifted a metal beam to throw it at one of the weaker supports. Songbird was still thrashing and it was enough to bring the roof down on the monster and let them escape.

Elizabeth stood at the door when she noticed Booker lift the beam.

"Booker, we gotta run!"

"I'm gonna clip his wings that he doesn't follow us anymore."

"Booker, no!" Elizabeth cried out.

It was too late however and the beam flew right at the creaking support on the ceiling. The support cracked and finally gave way, with one element after another falling on top of Songbird as the roof of the warehouse begun to collapse.

Elizabeth stood there, wide-eyed when Booker pushed her through the summoned door and they found themselves on Shantytown street.

Elizabeth still looked stunned, but shook her head and stared at Booker intensely.

"Why did you do that?"

"Did what?" he replied confused, brushing his coat off from dirt and dust.

"Dropped a whole building on him! You could have injured… one of us or worse!" She was clearly angry with him, but she wasn't saying something. That did not stop her from raining accusations on Booker.

"Elizabeth, that thing wanted to kill us and I'm trying to avoid it. But not every day I have to fight a giant bird creature." He retorted.

She looked at him again; shade of resentment in her eyes and then dropped her sight to the ground with a sullen look on her face.

"I just… never mind, lets go. The impound is waiting."

The door threw them not far from their destination, the path leading them down a road and through a tunnel to yet another docking space, cramped with boats and crates, with ever-present skylines twisting and turning between buildings. As they got nearer, they slowed down and hid behind the crates, listening to a female voice coming from the pier.

The Vox Populi are the bastard child of the Foreigner and the Heathen, and like all bastards, we serve it best by smothering it in its crib. "

"Booker, there's the impound" Elizabeth said quietly, pointing at the far end of the dock.

Across the dock they could see the tall white façade of the police building, its brass brown and dull in the murky air of Shantytown.

Booker didn't like the sound of that voice coming from the pier and didn't like the look of turrets and police boats around either. Worst of all appeared to be the large tubes of the multi-barrelled launchers, flanking the sides of the entrance to the impound.

"We gonna have to get through an army to get those weapons." He whispered back.

They continued their crawl around the dock between the freight containers, while the zealous commander preached on to the soldiers she had lined up at the dock.

"Make no mistake soldiers: the Vox and weapons go together like fire and gunpowder. One spark and we'll have a blaze we cannot control."

Booker couldn't agree more with the soldier. Once he fulfilled his part of the bargain for Daisy, this place was bound to go up in smoke, torn down by the now armed masses. But that would not be his problem anymore; he would be safely on his way to New York.

No matter how he looked at it, there was no way he could avoid a fight. With a reluctant sight, he rose to his feet and with a quick run charged into one of the soldiers standing at the edge of the dock. His cry of surprise and sock turned everyone's attention on Booker and he could hear sirens blaring already and see guns being aimed at him.

He lifted a crate with Telekinesis to knock off another trooper and dived behind some barrels to escape the fire now directed at him. Elizabeth was already behind cover and waiting to unleash her powers.

"Elizabeth, there!" Booker pointed to an outline of a Mosquito sentry hanging high above the dock and it appeared a moment later. The flimsily thing wouldn't hold out for long, but it was enough for Booker to get out of the cover to get rid of the remaining soldiers with machine gun and a well-thrown Devil's Kiss.

The sentries and turrets on the other side of the dock at the pier had him in sights already and Booker couldn't help but feel shock wash over him as the grenades and bullets exploded on the pier where he stood a mere moment ago, not to mention the heat of the explosion on his back that quickly dissipated with air rushing past him on the skyline. Elizabeth was still behind him, soldiering on with a confident face.

They quickly passed over to a rooftop of a building next to the impound and there Booker encountered more fire, some half a dozen soldiers. Juiced up on Nostrums and with adrenaline in his veins, he dropped right on top of a soldier beneath him, swinging his skyhook in the air and brutally stomping and knocking him out dead.

Another hail of fire followed and he felled another soldier, with his comrades putting up disorganised resistance. Some of them tried to charge Booker, but he only needed to stop them with Jockey and take them down with a well-placed hand cannon shot. He heard Elizabeth's voice behind him and stretched out his hand without thinking as she tossed the machine gun of the stomped soldier to him.

He had stop and hunker down behind a pillar of a building when he heard whizzing of the mortar shots from the launchers at the impound. The soldiers and turrets at the balconies and the entrance of the impound were not slacking either, trying to land a shot on the Pinkerton. The missiles landed all around him, shaking the building, with black smoke billowing from each explosion. While the soldiers were a routine matter for him, this was another thing entirely. He swallowed hard.

"Elizabeth, do you see anything?" he screamed over the explosions of the missiles.

"There is some metal scrap over there! Lift them and I will heat it up!" she shouted back from further behind. Booker saw her point at some metal beams lying

Booker peered out only to receive another hail of bullets and missiles his way. There was no way he would be able to get to that beam. He noticed another tear, not too far away from him. It resembled a pile of rubble, on top of which rested a turret with a large gun. It wasn't going to be sturdy, but it was better than nothing.

"Elizabeth, bring that one through," he pointed at the tear.

He silently hoped he wasn't pushing her too much, but so far she held out fine. In the instant that the turret was brought in through the tear, the fire focused on it as it started launching one missile after another in direction of the impound. Booker went for the steel beam and brought it around to aim at the launcher.

"I'm ready."

Elizabeth clasped her hands together and concentrated on heating the metal with a ray of energy. It was glowing red after mere seconds and in time too, as the turret was already giving up, shredded by continuous barrage coming from the station.

"Booker, hit it now!"

The heated metal flew at the launcher with a flick of Booker's wrist and it exploded, interrupting the fire for a brief moment and disorienting the soldiers.

There was another launcher on the other side and it was still firing however. Booker had no range in his current spot and he looked around with exasperation for a way to solve the current problem. He only hoped that Elizabeth would be able to keep up as he latched onto the skyline and zipped across the dock, climbing through air to another side where a skyline wrapped around a factory building.

He jumped off and took cover behind wall. Just as he did, he was followed by a barrage of explosions and bullets. Amazingly, Elizabeth landed near him shortly after and hid too. It was incredible how she managed to avoid direct harm, with nothing but a bit of dirt on her dress.

"Do you see anything?" He cried out to her.

A moment later she was tossing him a tube with a lever and a trigger. Booker picked up the thing and observed it curiously.

"What the hell is this?"

He took it and flipped the optical sight attached to it. The weapon was strange but had an appearance of a hand-held mortar or something. As far as arms went, Booker wasn't familiar with every piece of weaponry that he found in Columbia, vast majority of them strange adaptations of ordinary guns or outright novelties he never seen before in the world below.

He hoped for the best when he leaned out and took an aim at the rocket launcher and pulled the trigger.

This weapon had a quite the wallop to it, but the result was amazing – a rocket that flew fast and true at the launcher and blew it up in a spectacular blaze. Booker chucked to himself with amazement. Hell of a weapon that was that much was sure.

He pulled the lever and wound up the weapon again, this time aiming at the patriot that roamed at the front entrance and let a rocket fly at him too, turning him to smouldering scrap. He dropped the empty launcher and pulled out his hand cannon to finish off the remaining soldiers scurrying on the front of the impound. Few of them tried to close the distance with Booker jumping on the skyline, but they fell down like rocks once agent had his sight on them.

As the shooting ceased, Elizabeth came out of cover and followed Booker down the skyline to the station entrance. Booker went from soldier to soldier and resupplied, while Elizabeth tossed him the odd coin and supplies as she helped him in looting the fallen, Booker took his time to reload the gun and look around briefly, while Elizabeth leaned against a wall and observed him, apparently taking her time to rest up too.

After a brief moment of silence, Booker looked at her, somewhat puzzled.

"Aren't you gonna look me over?"

"What?" she replied, equally confused.

"You know, look at my wounds and so on."

She chuckled in response. "You're fine Booker. There is nothing to bandage or bind. Not a hair is missing from your head."

"Huh, I usually don't notice those until I bleed all over." He replied light-heartedly.

"Or maybe you are just trying to get me closer to you," she giggled childishly.

Booker only sighed and rolled his eyes. He would be hard-pressed though to deny that he did not mind being patched up by her. Of course it wasn't good for his health and it hurt like hell, and getting shot on purpose was never Booker's idea of a good time, no matter with whom. As they were getting ready to enter the impound, they could hear noise coming in from the shantytown's direction. It seemed to be a crowd, rather unsettled, whistling, cheering and heading in their direction. No doubt the news has spread and Booker's battle set the people off. Last thing he wanted was to be a poster boy for a revolution.

They crossed the heavy double doors and found themselves in the interior of the impound. Despite its purpose, the place still featured rich decorations, with smooth stone floors and walls and bronze statues of saluting soldiers, lined up on both sides of the corridor, with a vaulted ceiling high above them. Up ahead they could see an open security gate and alarms going off all over the place, with blinking red lights on the security checkpoint. Despite a sign, requesting all to prepare and submit for a check at the gate, there was no one attending to it.

Booker crossed the unmanned checkpoint and looked into the office space to his right. There, he found weapons scattered and stuffed under the desks and in the corners of the room. Machine guns, pistols, crates of the stuff. Some had Chinaman's marks, some stamps of other makers; some had a lick of red paint on them. No wonder they treat this place like a powder keg, he thought as he picked up a shotgun and loaded it with shells. This was a literal powder keg, and they probably could arm the whole city with this.

The next set of doors led them to the interior of the station. Here, they too could see well-embellished offices, with a staircase to his left that led to the upper level. The back wall was made entirely up of windows and the big shied, emblazoned with "Columbia Authority" sign hanging above the central booth added the air of importance to the place. Similar shield was engraved on the floor, with a slogan "Protecting Our Race". Policemen and troopers either talked to each other or sat at their desks and worked. Despite the alarms and ruckus outside, these people seemed strangely torn away from the events outside, stuck to their posts. Booker thought he could see some of them shimmer ever so slightly.

Booker and Elizabeth slid into hiding through the door to their right to an unoccupied corridor.

"Do you see any tears?" Booker motioned towards the open area in front of the central booth with a nod of his head.

"Just some metal barriers that I can bring through." She felt something behind her and turned around. She smiled devilishly.

"Booker, look at this." She tugged at his arm.

Booker turned around to look. An outline of a fireplace with a crank gun above it glowed behind them. Booker looked puzzled, but then smiled too.

"Do it."

The man inside the booth and his colleagues never expected a man with a gatling to come down on them, and they fell in a hail of bullets as Booker jumped out of the corridor. It appeared that he was going to plough though all of them, as he laid fire to the upper level too, and fended off a policeman charging him with a baton with an electric bolt and a bullet to the chest. Booker moved forward, sweeping all opposition from the top level, when he heard the heavy steps and the mechanical clanking.

Damnit, it was a patriot. Booker dropped the spent gun and pulled out his revolver while readying a Shock Jockey in his hand.

"Booker, he's here!" Elizabeth cried out as the animatronic president moved into their view, bursting in from an adjacent room. It set its gun on Booker and begun playing one of its quotes in that dead mechanical voice, but it never got to finish revving its gun up, as Booker zapped it and then swung around it to lay in lead into its gears. After few vicious shots, the patriot was a pile smouldering scrap on the floor.

"That was fast, Booker." Elizabeth marvelled at agent's proficiency.

"Practice makes perfect" He replied with a light smile. Truth be told, she kept him going with her tears and powers. There was no denying, he was skilful with weapons, but she gave him that special edge and he liked it.

They descended the stairs to the lockup, where behind glass; they could see the stocks of confiscated weapons and missing tools.

"They the are, the weapons," Elizabeth stood by the glass pane and looked at the arsenal.

"Now we just have to get them back to the Vox, and then we get our airship," he turned his head, listening to the faint but constant sound of people moving towards the impound, "but it sounds like we will be leaving them to be picked up here."

Booker then walked over to the locked bars and rattled them for a second.

"Need some help with this."

"Sure thing."

After a moment, the gate was opened and they were now descending the stairs.

"Who are we really helping by getting guns for Vox Populi?" Elizabeth sounded doubtful for a moment.

"Its gonna help us." Booker replied without hesitation.

"Daisy can make a change, can't she? Make things better for the people here," she seemed hopeful.

"Sure."

They finally got to the bottom and looked at the tacks of munitions and weapons lying all around.

"I doubt they will be sending reinforcements any time soon," Booker stated confidently, "Daisy can pick'em up here."

"Booker, if the Vox get their weapons, there's going to be a revolution, just like Les Miserables! These people are gonna have better lives." She was enthusiastic about what they were doing, the girl genuinely believed in the cause.

"Well, that'll be my good deed for the day," he replied, while picking up a rifle from a gun rack nearby. The noise of people outside intensified. On one of the shelves he found a small box with a scope inside. Elizabeth looked on silently as DeWitt mounted it on a rifle. He gave a small, satisfied smile once he was done.

They went back upstairs and the noise of people grew louder as they did. As they got closer to the exit, they could hear chanting.

"Can you feel it? Daisy's moved these people!" Elizabeth seemed moved to, swept up in the vibe of the revolution that she so often read about. "Things CAN change Booker, and we can be a part of it."

Booker however, wasn't so hot on the idea of being a revolutionary. When it came to certainties of life, taxes and debts were among them and no amount of red paint was able to free him from that.

"Be careful what you wish for," he replied. "Besides, once we get our airship, that'll be it for us. I hope you still remember about Paris."

"Of course I do Booker!" she replied cheerfully. Booker saw her eyes, they were wide and shining, as the young woman saw her dreams and fantasies come true. Booker quietly hoped that their optimism would not be misplaced.

As they finally got out of Bull House Impound, they could see a sea of red banners being hung on everything and a crowd of people rushing past them to get the weapons from the store. For Booker, it was a sign of freedom in its own way too - he would be free of his debt soon.

"Our airship's waiting. Lets go."

* * *

**Development notes:** Finkton as an area was pretty much envisioned as a slum and created to look like it, although some of the areas of Columbia's 'underbelly' were to be bigger and more open, as in line with the artwork. I've also included an additional scene that used a nice image of Finkton Rooftops from the art book, representing the said production line of the houses. And yes, Songbird is much more prominent, much more menacing but at the same time, Booker is given an option to react to it and Elizabeth behaves accordingly as well. My main idea here is to simply show that Songbird can appear whenever and is a much more dynamic element of the world -a part form the cut-scene set pieces, he is also a real challenge that Booker has to face.


	16. Chapter 16 - Revolt

**Well guys, this took me a while. But now that most of my heavy commitments are out of the way, I hope to pick up the pace. Also, we are going to see fun stuff after this chapter, I'm sure you will like it. For now, dig in and look for the extra notes below. **

* * *

**Revolt**

What Booker did was apparently enough to set off the whole of Shantytown ablaze, with the earlier gloom now superseded by red of the banners and the red of blood of the dead lawmen.

"_Vox! Vox Vox!"_

Shantytown was full of chanting and cheering, and a female voice could be heard coming from above. Booker knew that voice, permeating through every inch of Shantytown.

"_Comstock says all this trouble, all this strife, is on our heads. Says we're to blame."_

Elizabeth and Booker now moved through the streets and headed for the elevator to get back up. Booker didn't know where would they meet Daisy, but he was sure the airship would be in Finkton.

"_Says ain't nobody got nothing to complain about and if it's not fine for you and yours, why, that's cause you are a backslider and you've fallen into sin…"_

It was somewhat strange to Booker how fast the place was changing. Lengths of red cloth were being unfurled everywhere and people were already rushing in with hastily repainted police boats to load weapons and deliver them to others. For a spontaneous revolution, Daisy had it planned out quite nicely.

"_Well, let me tell you about sin. It's a sin when you turn on your tap and ain't no hot water coming out."_

Something caught their attention as they were making their way towards the elevator.

"Booker, look," Elizabeth pointed at a large banner, picturing Daisy holding her hand forward and a rifle in other, calling for an uprising. But when Booker looked, it shimmered and after a moment it transformed into a completely different poster. Booker was on it instead, his fist raised high.

"_It's a sin when you work 18-hour days and can't feed your young ones."_

'DeWitt, Martyr of the Revolution'

He stopped and looked at the poster, stunned and unsure what to think.

"Looks like you are a hero, Booker," Elizabeth said with quiet awe.

"I'm not sure that this poster was supposed to be me." It was his name and his face on it, but this DeWitt wore a vest and a scarf, and something was slightly off about the face, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. Hair perhaps?

"_It's a sin that Comstock sleeps in his mansion on a hill and you got to make your bed in hay and straw."_

"Come on, is it really so bad to be a part of all this?" Elizabeth asked him.

None of this was his business really, but if put on a spot, he did just start an uprising. It wasn't his choice however, so being elevated for it felt strange to say the least. He could have shrugged it off too, just as he did with so many other things, and the fact that the poster appeared out of thin air put the entire thing into question.

"I'll be happier when we get to the airship. Besides, I'm no martyr. I'm not dead yet."

"Oh, right. On the other hand, maybe you are better off alive." Elizabeth quickly corrected herself. Booker couldn't help but smile at her embarrassment, her cheeks going slightly red.

"_But I'm here to tell you something, brothers and sisters. The biggest sin of all, the mother of all sins, is that we sit back and take it." _

They pushed on and the crowds got thicker, as more people kept streaming into the streets handing weapons to each other or carrying red flags. Music could be heard too, a faint Irish tune or something akin to it, with people singing merrily. If not for the bodies of dead policemen on the pavement and gunshots echoing in the distance, one could almost think it was some kind of festival. Elizabeth found flowers somewhere, Booker suddenly noticed as he saw the girl holding them in her hand. He realised that the flowers were falling from above, alongside confetti tossed form higher floors and platforms. The earlier grime and grey cobblestones were now dotted with bits of coloured paper. Nice farewell party for them, he thought to himself ironically.

Their travel was faster now, making a quick way back to the elevator. Surprisingly, it took a short amount of time to find an alternative road, and they found themselves near the exit to the upper level. Songbird hasn't found them yet either, still stuck or recovering. He hoped they could make it before it appeared again.

"So what will happen after the revolution?" Elizabeth seemed excited but there was a tone of apprehension in her voice as they stepped into the elevator and begun their ride up. Booker had never read _Les_ _Misérables_, but suspected that the girl wanted some solid, real answers.

"Well, if they succeed, it'll be Fitzroy instead of Comstock that will call the shots now," he replied.

"She will change things for the better, won't she?" Elizabeth clung to that hope, just as much as she did to the thought of Paris.

Booker entertained that hope briefly in his head. He wanted to say no, but in the end, did he truly know people as well as he thought? He spent most of the time around an underbelly of another place, and that stuff rubs off on you.

"There's no telling, but for our sake lets hope they do. Daisy made a deal with us too." he replied

The elevator took them to the top and opened up at a service station. They weren't a long way away from Fink tower, but the slaughter that happened in Shantytown was only starting here. The gunfire in the distance and blaring alarms filled the streets and the pair carefully navigated the alleys, observing the uprising.

Booker instinctively raised his weapon whenever gun went off nearby or a bullet whizzed past, with Elizabeth's scared gasps. But for the most part, they moved unmolested. Elizabeth's expression slowly changed too, as she observed the chaos of the uprising – no more a cheerful crowd and a festive mood, but vicious fighting, people with vengeful stares and bloodlust in their eyes roaming and looking for a kill.

The combat slowly eased as they were getting closer to the Fink Tower. The bodies were now those of clerks and Fink workers, unarmed office hirelings, lying haplessly on the ground. They were close to a big junction now and saw a mass of overturned wagons and carts. Even horses, which pulled the carts, did not escape the massacre and lay beside the mass of wrecked cargo.

Booker approached the crates. They were various supplies, partially looted, some broken. Vigor bottles laid strewn everywhere, while next to them were looted crates and broken equipment. Booker got closer and inspected the stuff. He found a green bottle with a figure of a woman languishing on top of it and a heart-shaped screw top. Just like the others, it was heavy, with a neat finish and solid look to it.

"_With MESMERIZE, the free will of your enemies matters no more. Make your foes blindly fight and die for you._"

Booker looked at the bottle suspiciously. This was no time for aphrodisiacs, and they still had to get the airship. The way there seemed a bit cluttered though and Booker had a feeling that some people would need some persuading on their way there. Hell, maybe he could use it on some of the people back in New York.

"Well, here goes nothing…"

"Booker uncorked the bottle and took a swig. The cough syrup texture was still there, but this time the ether was mixed with… absinthe? His vision got blurry and Booker felt lightheaded for a brief moment, as a transparent, green-looking female appeared before his eyes. Booker saw as she floated around him, caressing his face with her ethereal fingers and heard faint, unintelligible whispers in his ear. The alluring phantom disappeared in a flash as the green mist in front of his eyes dissipated. He shook his head, trying to get used to the new sensation.

While Booker was busy imbibing a new vigor, Elizabeth approached the body of a man, dressed up to be a clerk, and looked at his body sullenly. The man didn't appear to have fought or had any weapon. It was an innocent, gunned down as he tried to flee. Elizabeth sighed sadly and recalled how many people were killed during the student uprising, when Paris went up in arms against the monarchy. At least that was what Hugo wrote. But that was on paper and this, this was reality. "Better life for the people" apparently didn't mean everyone.

Elizabeth kneeled beside the dead man and put his hands together on his chest, before placing the flowers she held so far in his cold hand. She didn't know him, but she knew he didn't deserve to die like this.

She closed the man's hand around the flowers and with a sigh got up. She saw Booker stand near her, observing the whole scene.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," she begun weakly. "This wasn't supposed to go like that."

It was heart-wrenching for him to see her so down. That was a problem with kind hearts – they get broken so easily.

"None of this is our fault, Elizabeth."

"We helped them get these weapons Booker; we helped them start the revolution," she carried on, her voice quivering "I was so set on getting to Paris that…"

"Elizabeth, look at me," he cut her off. "You can't control everything and feel responsible for everyone. We've done our part of the bargain; it's up to Fitzroy to uphold hers. Let's find her, alright?" She looked at him now. "We'll explain everything there."

She looked back at him, smiling ruefully.

There wasn't much ground left to cover and as they were nearing the Fink Tower. There, a group of Vox were already exchanging shots with security, holed up behind hastily erected barricades and automated sentries spewing fire in their direction. The exchange was growing hotter as more people from across the area piled onto the barricade from Vox side. Not soon after, flaming balls and bolts of electricity started coming from the direction of police barricade. To get to Fitzroy they had to get to Fink, and to get to Fink they had to get through the main entrance. There was no other way but through this mess.

Booker looked across the barricades and at the Fink building and sighed. Why was Fitzroy making things so damn complicated?

He turned around and looked to Elizabeth, who also seemed to put her fighting mood on.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Booker leapt out of cover and ran ahead, firing at the surprised soldiers. He dodged the fireballs and returned his own, while making a beeline for a tall-decorated lamppost. The fire from automated turrets grew heavier, but the Vox took up Booker's example and moved forward despite the fire. Some of them fell, but they were making good progress forward.

"Damn, it will harder to move up. Any tears ahead?"

"Not that I can see in my reach. We must move up closer."

They were laying it thick and fast and it would be hard to not get snubbed when peering out of cover. Booker briefly reflected on the new Vigor he had with him.

He willed the green mist forward, and he could see a small green ghost, circling around his palm and between his fingers. He leaned out just to see the opposing line and launched the vigor, with the ghost now flying towards one of the soldiers.

Booker heard some surprised shouting and then painful cries as the vigor scrambled the mind of a soldier who begun shooting his comrades in the back. Damn useful but a dreadful thing he thought. Next one was a sentry, which also got hit with Mesmerize and interestingly enough turned its weapons on the Columbian troops.

This was it. "Elizabeth lets move!"

Booker was now moving ahead quickly, and the Vox troops broke though another series of obstacles. The Vigors were not as often fired at them.

"Booker, I'm ready!"

A rocket automaton was willed into existence at one of the positions and it was now the Fink side that got swamped with heavy fire. The Vox were now cheering as they moved ahead.

From above the soldier's barricade a flare shoot up into the sky, flashing with its characteristic red light. It didn't take long for them to hear the dreaded noise of the airship signals and the grey zeppelin arrived, floating above them. The Vox were wiped out in an instant, as the ship launched a volley after volley of flaming missiles, rocking the entire approach to the tower.

"We can't move up unless someone takes that airship out," Booker stated.

"I got it Booker," she replied to him immediately. He was slightly confused but after a moment he saw an outline of a strangely-shaped stationary weapon.

"Booker, there is a flak cannon here, I can bring it in," she looked eager to do it, but Booker had one question. What the hell was a flak cannon? There was no time to ask it however.

"Open it!"

It looked similar to the multi-barrelled launchers they encountered at Bull House. As soon as the thing was brought in, it began firing on the zeppelin, tearing through the silver cover of its balloon and setting it aflame. Only after a moment, the airship responded, but the flak was faster, firing one missile after another. The exchange lasted for a short moment before the airship groaned, its surface torn and on fire. The emergency claxons on board were now blaring and Booker could see people escaping the burning ship, jumping onto the skylines around them.

"That was fast," Booker said.

"Well, I wished to have the airship gone, and here we are!" Elizabeth replied merrily. It seemed that participating in combat made her somewhat less troubled. Booker knew himself how much trouble a restless mind can be. If combat was what did it for her… It wasn't going to last for much longer; soon they would be out of here. Besides, he'd prefer if she was not going down that route.

Daisy's encouragements could be heard from up above and the Vox were now streaming into Fink headquarters in number. Booker and Elizabeth quickly pushed through them and went straight for the elevator to the top.

"So, we are finally at the end," Elizabeth sighed.

"Yeah, once we are done and out of here, we can part our ways. Not before I get paid of course."

She looked at him with her blue eyes, somewhat sad. Booker thought about it briefly. He wouldn't mind staying or keeping her with him, but that would be tantamount to admitting that he... Was that so bad? Something did not sit right with him about her though and his years as a detective made him used to non-committal arrangements.

Besides, people who wanted her were far more insidious and persistent than he could expect, if those ambushes and spooky appearances were anything to go by. He had to part ways with her in the end.

The elevator came to a halt abruptly halfway, and the intercom started ringing. They looked at each other, puzzled, before Booker answered.

"Um, hello?"

"DeWitt, I must speak to you," it was a male voice, somewhat gravely and pointed, but it wasn't Fink.

"Fitzroy is tearing Columbia apart. You are no more important to her than the rest of these people she claims to speak for."

"Who are you?"

"Do not let the girl fall into her hands, or she will destroy everything," the voice was now turning angry. "It's hard to stop you Dewitt, I see why they hired you, but don't be foolish about Fitzroy!" The last sentence was spoken with a fiery contempt for Daisy, as if words alone could condemn her to hell. They heard the click of the intercom, the conversation apparently over.

"Who was that?" Elizabeth looked somewhat spooked.

"I guess Comstock. He seems rather protective of you."

"Too protective for my linking," she scoffed.

The elevator was on the move again and they arrived at Fink's floor. They stepped out to the sight of a dead secretary at her desk, papers and furniture broken and turned over and the doors to the Fink's office ajar. Some of Vox were already milling around the place, having arrived with Daisy.

"Please no, I … I will give you everything! Take it, take it all all, but please don't…."

Fink's voice was high and desperate. The gathered Vox were observing them as they got close to the door.

"No, please…."

A single gunshot reverberated through the whole floor and a sound of a body slumping to the ground could be heard. Elizabeth gasped but Booker only pushed the doors open.

Daisy was standing behind Fink's desk, her face hard, righteous. She was holding a pistol in her right hand, and was still looking at a body lying on the floor in front of the desk. Jeremiah Fink was now on the floor of his office, in a pool of blood, which only made the red carpet darker around him. The office wasn't in great shape either, with every single piece of furniture either overturned or trashed, even the solid bronze Fink that apparently wasn't bolted to the floor was toppled. The exception was the desk.

Through the tall window of the office Booker could see the First Lady suspended in the air, docked at a platform sticking out of the Fink tower. There must have been some access or some way to get out;

Booker and Elizabeth stepped forward as Daisy observed them, still bearing an imperious expression.

"We've got you your guns, I'm here for the airship." Booker said flatly. The faster they were gone the better.

Daisy looked at him for a brief moment, then at Elizabeth.

"I don't think we are quite done, DeWitt."

This sudden change surprised him. "What?"

"The fight ain't over until we bring down Comstock," Daisy sounded resolute. "And we need every weapon that we can get our hands on." She threw a glance at Elizabeth, who stood besides Booker, unease clear on her face. Daisy then turned her gaze back to Booker. "There's enough loot to go around for a vulture like you, if you give her to us."

Booker was getting fed up of stops and stalling. Everyone in this damn flying circus was after the girl. "I ain't here to bargain with you. I fulfilled my part of the deal."

"You have your revolution, now let us go," Elizabeth suddenly added, with a hint of resentment.

Daisy slammed her hand on the desk.

"I ain't gonna questioned by the likes of you! You know nothin' of the suffering the Founders have caused us. You see, they ain't nothin' but weeds. If you wanna get rid of the weed, you got to pull it up from the root. It's the only way to be sure," she finished menacingly.

Booker noticed that everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons and shifted ever so slightly, holding their guns and rifles.

"Is this what your movement is about, Daisy?" Booker knew the answer, but as long as she was talking, there was a way out.

Daisy's eyes narrowed into a vicious stare, as if he was Comstock himself.

"Kill DeWitt and take the girl."

"No!" Elizabeth screamed as the Vox around the room suddenly turned their weapons on them, while Booker drew his handgun in a split of a second and threw a Bronco at the closest rebel. Daisy lifted up her pistol too, probably knowing that Booker wasn't someone to be trifled with. But she had the advantage, what could go wrong?

The man hit with Bronco was already dead on the floor, and his comrades were getting hit too as Booker put his nostrum-infused reflexes to work. But he didn't throw himself at them, aiming for the exit, hoping for a way to the landing pad. Elizabeth read his action easily and was already hiding behind an overturned bookcase, while Booker threw another Bronco in direction of Daisy's bodyguards. Even though it was fair distance, Elizabeth leaned out and pulled a shotgun, dropped by one of the Vox, to her with a flick of her wrist.

"Booker, catch!" she yelled and tossed the weapon to him. Booker grabbed the gun and jumped into cover behind the toppled bronze of Fink's statue before taking down the group with a shot.

Daisy was now alone, but she stood tall, still behind her desk and kept firing one precise shot after another in Booker's direction, keeping him pinned. He couldn't move or run towards the exit, while Elizabeth looked at him desperately. Not long after a flurry of steps and grunting could be heard, as more Vox were rushing to the top floor.

Daisy smirked arrogantly as she heard people incoming.

"It's over DeWitt."

Elizabeth was still staring at Booker, as if looking for an answer or something that could help. After a moment, she took in a deep breath and stood up .She stretched her hand forward and a strong gust of wind hit Daisy, pushing her back her back and disorienting her.

"Hey, knock it off!" The black woman was covering her face and closed her eyes. She was totally exposed.

"Booker, hit her!"

The detective stood up and with a motion of his hand lifted a chair into the air, before launching it straight at the still-disoriented Vox leader, who was shielding her eyes from the artificial wind.

They heard a loud scream as she crashed through the large window and fell of the building. The wind stopped and Elizabeth gasped. Despite seeing tens of men die, it seemed that Daisy's demise surprised her. She ran up to the window. Booker was instantly behind her.

"Elizabeth, we have to go"

"Booker, look, she's alive!"

They were running out of time but this surprised him. Booker didn't know what to expect when he stuck his head out through the crashed window. Below him, on a ledge, he could see the black woman in a red scarf, hanging onto the edge of the ledge with her hands.

A thought flashed in his head. She wouldn't relent if they were to escape and would probably destroy Columbia if he left her here. It wouldn't take much to push her off, with her dangling like a cherry on a tree.

"Argh, damn you DeWitt!" Daisy screamed as she looked up, still hanging off the ledge.

Elizabeth was still beside him, pressure building up on them both, while he was thinking desperately. Would he be doing anyone a service if he did it? Probably. But he didn't feel like this was an inevitable choice; this wasn't his place to judge and this wasn't his fight.

"Let's go."

They stepped away form the broken window and ran for the roof platform.

They were now running towards the airship, the pier open and with noise from downstairs. Booker couldn't help but feel lucky, now that the airship was in his grasp and the Vox were on his tail. Booker and Elizabeth passed the open gate and the noise of the rebel crowd was getting louder. Elizabeth was first to cross into the ship, with Booker after her. He turned around as soon as he entered and slammed the heavy doors shut, while Elizabeth was already at the controls

"Booker quick, we got to leave!"

He got to controls and threw the levers forward. The engines rumbled as they came to life and the nimble airship took off. The cries and shouts of the Vox were growing dimmer as they moved higher into the air, out of the hazy smoke of Finkton. As he set the controls, the airship flew in direction of Columbia, taking them through an after noon sky.

Elizabeth exhaled and sighed with relief, before giving a small laugh. Booker relaxed too, now that they finally were on their way out.

"That was crazy, wasn't it?" She asked him cheerfully.

"It definitely was," he replied and gave a small chuckle.

The girl's eyes shone and Booker saw all of the earlier burdens and worries evaporate instantly as they were making their way through the sky.

Well, Mister Dewitt, the moment of truth," she said with a more serious tone now. "Is it going to be New York or Paris?"

She caught him off-guard and Booker tried not to look baffled. Just as Columbia was looming below them, so was the question of whether he would take her where she wanted to go, or do the thing he was contracted to do.

She was waiting for an answer, looking at him expectantly. He was having second thoughts about the job. God knows what they wanted her for, and by the looks of what the people of Columbia wanted from her, he was guessing it was nothing good. His debts won't magically disappear though, he could run and fight but he wasn't going to do it forever.

He wanted to scold himself as he gave in to her sapphire gaze; that sweet, innocent face with her soft, red lips that slowly curved into a smile as Booker pulled the controls and the coordinates rolled past New York for a city beyond the ocean.

Turbulence shook the ship as they were turning in the air. They heard a long, high-pitched whistle that was all too familiar.

"No no no no no!" Elizabeth was panicked.

"Oh shit… Come on we gotta find a way to me this thing go faster."

Booker threw himself at the controls and started switching levers and looking for something, he didn't exactly know what.

"There's gotta be some sort of throttle or accelerator or something!" Elizabeth said.

"Do you know what it looks like?" Booker replied, still frantically looking and fidgeting with controls.

"I don't know!"

"Help me find it!"

It was too late for that, as the metal giant flew straight at the ship and crashed with it, destroying the glass of the cockpit and sending them reeling. Booker held onto the pilot's chair while Elizabeth was thrown to the floor amidst a shower of sparkling glass.

"Elizabeth, hang onto something!" Booker yelled atop of his lungs, screaming past the rush of air and the screeching of Songbird who latched onto the front of the ship and shook it.

Booker could hear the blaring of the warning bells on board as he fell down and then rose up, tossed around the inside of the ship alongside Elizabeth. Crates and tools were flying with them, going up and down. Booker tried reaching out to Elizabeth to grab her hand as they were tossed inside the falling airship when he was slammed into the floor. They hit something hard and everything dropped alongside with them, and Booker felt the hard surface of the floor as his vision went black.

He wasn't out for long when he opened his eyes. He was feeling every bone in his body and he decided that it would best if he waited for a bit before getting up.

Elizabeth seemed to fare a little better, as she sat up and was rubbing the side of her head, wincing as she did it, coughing slightly. He coughed too as he draw in breath into his pained chest.

Something thumped heavily against the ground, setting Booker into alarmed state. Was the bird still on them? Another thump and the heavy doors of the airship started to bend, before being yanked out of their hinges by a pair of big ceramic hands.

Elizabeth was on her feet already when the metal arms made their way into the interior of the ship and grabbed Elizabeth in her waist.

"Booker!" She was squirming and shouting. Booker got to his feet quickly, disregarding his vertigo.

"Hey, leave her alone…"

He didn't finish, feeling the ceramic hand smash against his chest and throwing him against the metal wall of the ship. Darkness enveloped him once again as he slumped to the floor unconscious.

* * *

**Development Notes**: This chapter is a mixture of current game and of old cues from the trailers and art concepts. Elizabeth's moment with the fallen man is a cue taken from the 2011 trailer, which also featured "Will The Circle be Unbroken" for the first time in the context of the game . Just in reference to the comments about me taking that Easter Egg from the previous chapter - its a nice piece of music and I love to see Elizabeth sing it, but given the context of the original draft of the story and my work on it, the song simply did not fit anywhere so I decided to skip it. I would be hard-pressed to do it justice with what I have planned and preferred to not jam it in for the sake of it.  
Standoff with Daisy in her office is directly inspire by her concept art, which shows her leaning on the desk, with glass window behind her and two flags. She looks pretty angry there too and I thought that this was a perfect set piece. Also, we never really see Fink's Office as such, just a really bizarre rooftop which serves as combat arena before Daisy is stabbed. As for Daisy's death - Its a pretty significant event in the game, especially because of its impact on Elizabeth, but here I decided to take it a slightly different route, seeing how the plot focuses on her in a slightly different angle.

Lastly, there we have the foreshadowing by Comstock and a different outcome of the airship crash. This is our turning point , because we are nowhere near the end yet.


	17. Chapter 17 - Icarus

**Here we go, the first grand change, that is not a change at the same time! While this chapter is short, I've been working on the next part, which should be coming (relatively) soon. Look at development notes below!**

* * *

**Icarus**

First was darkness, then the cold on his face and neck. Then came liquid in his mouth and nose, and a violent reaction of flooded lungs. He saw a small city, full of elaborate detail right under his nose. Next to the city, a tall figure of a diver stood motionless. The city stood on a small platform, with writing on a golden plaque.

_1893 CHICAGO WORLD'S FAIR_

But it meant nothing to Booker, who was now thrashing and trying to get his head above the water. He felt burning and painful tightness as his lungs struggled to get air.

Then, a giant hand that so far kept him under water now pulled him out and Booker drew air with much coughing and spattering.

He was given no respite as he felt the world spin around him and he ended up on the floor. He couldn't stop coughing and drew in air with big, pained gasps. This dipping was going on for quite a while now, but Booker could remember only blurry figures and bits of half-forgotten questions. They wanted something from him, asked endlessly about his affair or his mission, he couldn't tell. And then dip after dip in the fish tank, accompanied by solid kicks and punches. If there was any luck to be had in this situation, they avoided punching him in a face. That was a small blessing though, given that they already knocked him out several times and brought him back by suffocating him.

The figurine of the diver was now in front of him when a heavy, metal foot crushed it and Booker flinched and screamed instinctively. He was spent and powerless. Then he felt the metal hand close around him and now he was face to face with the beating heart of the handyman, encased in glass, floating in some yellow, disgusting liquid.

He struggled feebly and yelled when the metal giant turned and swung its arm around, flinging Booker across the dark room. He was flying straight at the oranges-tinted window and only in the last second he raised his arms in front of him.

The glass shattered, and the light blinded him for an instant. He was out of the window and Columbia stretched in front of his eyes in all its glory. He didn't know whether it was his mind or the adrenaline, but the time seemingly slowed down. Shards of glass were glittering in the sun as they fell around him, Old Glory was billowing on top of the buildings proudly, and the sky was perfectly blue. The American heaven.

But then he felt gravity again, as time sped up to its normal flow and Booked fell. He screamed at top of his lungs as he saw clouds and green fields far below. But he was not dead yet. A small airship lazily cruised just below him, flying in between the buildings. Booker's luck had it that he hit the surface of the balloon, bounced off and tumbled on it. It would have been his salvation, had he not started to slip off its surface. There was nothing to hold on to, and he frantically dragged his hands across the surface of it as he slipped off. In the last moment his hands found a loose part of the balloon surface and he sank his fingers into it. The canvas covering the balloon tore off and Booker slipped even further tearing the cover off. He hoped that it would not rip off completely and luckily, it didn't. The canvas stopped ripping and he felt a sudden jerk. Booker took in a deep breath. This was far too close for his linking.

Booker now looked around. The airship was cruising amidst the floating city, strange tranquillity surrounding him. He could hear nothing but the drone of the engines and the sound of high wind. Booker couldn't really tell what time it was, but given when they crashed, it must have been morning. They tortured him the whole night it seemed but now he didn't feel it. Even though he was here for a while, the sight of Columbia still was awe-inspiring.

The airship was now cruising past a building with a big billboard on it. Pretty much every other building in the distance had something plastered on it, be it an ad or propaganda. Booker looked at it passively.

_Burden NOT Columbia with your CHAFF _

The picture accompanying the caption was a personification of Columbia, dressed in stars and stripes, and cradling pink, healthy child while pushing away a brown, sickly baby with her other free hand. It couldn't get more blunt than that, Booker thought.

But Columbia's capacity for surprises did not end just there, as Booker saw a man standing on the balcony of the same building, right next to the billboard, who waved his hands around to the sounds of a patriotic song from a gramophone, while Stars and Stripes hung from a wall above him.

Booker turned his head away from the spectacle and looked to the side. The airship blared with a warning noise when a house suddenly appeared in front of them, lifted by hot air balloons. Finally, an answer to the question that nagged him for so long about the city – it was giant balloons, or so it seemed. As airship moved forward, the building floated right above them and Booker kept his sight on it, until he heard something rip.

He turned his head quickly and looked at the canvas to which he held for so long. His fingers were getting stiff but he did not dare to do anything about was little he could do however, as he felt it loosen and tear. There was nothing he could do, and when it finally tore off, he fell.

He screamed his lungs out as he plummeted down. His mind was empty and full of most base fear that anyone falling from the sky might have.

It was an equally shocking surprise when a cloud of flowers appeared right in front of his nose and he fell into it. He felt the familiar feeling of landing on a big, invisible cushion his screams stopped in an instant, although he was still quite disoriented. Then, he felt something pull him up, as he was floating amidst the cloud of roses and green leaves. Booker looked up to see where he was going and he saw her, standing in a balcony surrounded by roses.

He floated towards her along with the flowers that appeared to be thrown off the balcony where they grew. She had her hand stretched out to him, beckoning.

She was a sight to behold; an errant thought entered his dazzled mind. He was getting closer to her and he could see the relief and longing on her face. He stretched his hand towards her, approaching slowly. He was mere inches away from her when Booker saw a big metal hand appear behind her. He wanted to scream, shout something in protest but the hand quickly closed itself around Elizabeth's waist, who gasped in surprise. She still had her hand stretched out to him when she let out a single surprised yelp and was pulled back inside.

The window closed, the flowers fell, and Booker felt as the invisible hand holding him up in the air was gone. The last rose in front of him hovered for a fraction of a second longer before falling and Booker followed it. He was falling again and this time, there was definitely nothing to save him. The lower parts of Columbia went past his eyes as he picked up speed and he screamed again. Damn this job and damn this city, but did he really hope for a different end?

The bottom half of Columbia was now out of his sight and he had only green fields below him. That is when his vision went black, and he only felt one of the roses smack him in the face as he fell into it.

* * *

**Development notes: **Not much to be said here, those who kept up with the game since the start will know this scene. Even though it never featured as part of any prospective gameplay, I thought it a fitting addition here and a good bridge between parts of the story. The way the trailer was set up really put it in the middle of the game, as if some events already transpired and it looked as if taken out of the game storyboard. Now, I know for a fact that Irrational's story development wasn't uniform or steady by any means, however, this trailer gives us huge hints as to the initial template of the story and relationships involved.

In the end however, I always want to underscore that this is as much a fan re-imagining along the original lines as much as the actual original "script" that might never see the light of the day or existed in a fully fleshed out form until the last moments before the rewrite.


End file.
